


We All Fall Down

by eclecticbass



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Depression, Discussion of sexual assault, Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sickfic, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2019-08-11 05:37:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 43
Words: 65,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16469765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eclecticbass/pseuds/eclecticbass
Summary: After Therion steals something he never intended to, he finds he is more broken than he ever wanted to acknowledge.





	1. Dead Ringer

Very rarely did Therion drink more than a single half-litre of ale. To drink in excess was to lose his focus, and that was simply not an option for one of his profession. But he did not frequent the tavern as an alcoholic; he was more an eavesdropper than anything. Perhaps, he considered, taking a meager sip, he was an eavesdropper more than he was a thief.

The drinks in Clearbrook had a distinct taste from the familiar ale of Bolderfall, but Therion permitted no sign of distaste in his expression. So long as he was neutral, he was as good as invisible, and could concentrate on isolating the mixed conversations of the tavern.

“I’ve got no idea where it is. I’ve looked everywhere.”

“Give yourself a break, Alf, it’ll turn up. And I’ll pay for drinks tonight.”

In truth, though, Therion intended to leave town the next morning. He had but a few items to procure before setting off towards the desert- food, most importantly- and he did not suppose it would take him much time. There was not much point in staying to listen to the lackluster banter of townsfolk in a town without nobility, so he supposed he was only trying to pass the time. It was safer not to venture out at night, and he knew better than to wait around in town long after he obtained what he needed.

“I always keep it safely tucked away in my satchel. I don’t think I took it out at any point today, but I can’t assume it was stolen, because nothing else in my satchel disappeared.”

 _That’s because a coin purse can buy me a mug of ale and bed at the inn,_ Therion thought, _while a bottle of sleeping draught would do me no more good than a spell of good, old-fashioned fainting._

“I know those ashes mean a lot to you, but I can’t offer you much more than luck. You said there was a couple hours between the last you knew it was there and when you realized it wasn’t, right?”

Ashes?

There were, he considered, a couple vials alongside the modest sum of money. Therion had assumed they were ingredients for some kind of tonic or salve.

What sort of moron kept ashes in their coin purse?

 _The unassuming, daydreaming sort of moron who he would never trust to concoct any sort of medicine on his behalf,_ Therion answered himself with a quiet scoff.

But although even he did not consider himself trustworthy or honest, he could not justify robbing a man of a loved one’s remains. It would not be any more difficult to return the coin purse undiscovered than it had been to obtain it in the first place. He would wait for the apothecary to finish drinking and stumble home, and once he fell asleep, Therion would pick the lock and drop the coin purse inside.

He did not finish his own ale. One needed a clear mind and quiet movements to break and enter. _Besides,_ he thought, pushing the mug and a few coins from the apothecary’s purse aside, _the drink was adequate at best._

The apothecaries were quiet as he left the tavern. Therion’s first thought was that they had realized he was listening to them, or perhaps that he had been recognized. But it was more likely, he realized moments later, that they noticed he was limping, and the thought permitted his momentarily racing heart to rest easy. They were only the sort to worry _for_ others, not _about_ them: a sentiment which Therion had learned long ago was naivety at its finest.

He found a place near the river where the water reflected the images of those who entered or exited the tavern, and opened the purse. The money inside was not even sufficient to pay for shelter for the night. Therion cursed himself- evidently, he had misjudged its value in more ways than one. Were apothecaries no longer well-paid, or was this man merely completely inexperienced?

But true to the apothecary’s word, the vials Therion has assumed to be filled with crushed flower pods or minced herbs were indeed filled with ash and engraved with names. Family members, Therion bitterly supposed. The thought crossed his mind that they were patients who died under the apothecary’s care, but he seemed only like an idiot, not a sociopath.

But Therion knew one could never be sure.

He did not have to wait long to see the reflection of the pair of apothecaries in the water. He followed at quite a distance, giving them reason to believe they were not being followed, and listened from beneath an open window when they went inside.

“Alright, I have a couple patients for at-home treatment tonight. You take good care of Nina, hear?”

“Good thing you told me! I was planning on giving her food poisoning so I can find out how well this new tonic works!”

So he had a sense of humour. Either that or Therion was not wrong in assuming he was a sociopath.

“Don’t worry, Zeph! I’ll make sure everything’s okay. I’ll cook so Uncle Alfyn can’t food poison anybody!”

“Nina, Nina… if you do that, Alfyn might really need to whip up a couple tonics!”

“Remember to come in through the back tonight, yeah? Good luck.”

Therion hid behind a bush as one of the apothecaries left, a satchel over his shoulder and case in his hand. He hoped the bottles and vials therein contained actual medicine, but at this point he could not be sure.

Once the apothecary was out of sight, Therion ducked out from beneath the window and strolled along the path as though he had never been there. Armed with the knowledge of where to go, he had no reason to stay. Certainly, he didn’t have particularly much to _do,_ either, but anywhere was better than just outside the house he planned to break into.

He supposed he would find somewhere to stay the night. If he could not afford a room at the inn, he would have to find a place beyond the public eye- and if it shielded him from the wind, all the better for him.

After a bit of exploring, Therion happened upon on a spot just behind the inn, where a door led to a storage room. He doubted he would sleep there, because the innkeeper might find him, but if all went well, his skill in lockpicking could net him a blanket.

Still, he could not be carrying something as large and cumbersome as a blanket from town to town. It would be another stolen item he would have to return- and not of much use in the desert. Never mind, then.

As much as he resented those nights he was forced to rest on a cushion of sharp rocks, the open layout of Clearbrook left him little choice but to settle for the only half-concealed alley he could find. He wondered if he could slip a few coins from the pocket of someone too drunk to notice at the tavern, but reconsidered. The barkeep would recognize him. He was not known as a regular in this town, and could not risk going twice in one night. Spiteful, he wasted a bit more time by the river, drinking and cleaning himself as well as he wagered he could without compromising his anonymity.

Once the water seemed more of a chilling hindrance and the river reflected the glow of the stars, Therion deemed it reasonable that the apothecary- and the girl, he reminded himself- would be asleep.

The lanterns hanging from the walls had been extinguished, at any rate, and from what Therion could tell through the window, none within were moving. He picked the lock with relative ease and opened the door just a crack. Gradually, just enough to slip the coin purse through and place it inside. He did not recall the door creaking, but he could not risk something as ridiculous as setting off-

The damned apothecary had strung the handle on the other side of the door to a bell.

Therion dropped the purse and ran.


	2. Cast From Heaven

Despite his lack of certainty as to where or when he deemed it safe to fall asleep, Therion was absolutely sure, even before he brought himself to open his eyes, that it differed from where he awoke. He laid not upon the stones he had regarded so despicably, but in a bed. He doubted he would have been able to pay for or sneak into the inn, and even if he had, it would not have smelled of herbs, smoke, and breakfast.

He heard footsteps, and the knowledge that he was not alone was sufficient to jerk him fully into awareness.

He was not sure if he was even entitled to call himself surprised that one of the apothecaries was standing over him.

“How are you feeling? You hungry?”

After the talk of food poisoning he had overheard, Therion was not inclined to accept, though he was not sure he had eaten at all the previous day. His hesitation did not stop the tight feeling in his stomach, though, that longed for a real hot meal.

“Why the hell am I in your house?”

“I carried you.”

“Why?”

The apothecary shifted awkwardly. “‘Cause I didn’t think it was right to let you sleep out in an alley with a broken ankle and no food after you returned my coin purse.”

“It isn’t broken,” Therion snapped, wanting to argue but finding little else wrong with the apothecary’s statement. “It healed a long time ago.”

“Not really.” The apothecary dared not look him in the eye. “And your wrist and shoulder didn’t either, but Zeph said it was better if we only worked on one thing at a time.”

Therion glared for a moment, putting the apothecary’s words together, and in a swift motion pulled the blanket away.

He knew it hurt. But it did not hurt significantly more than it normally did, and he had attributed it to the sprinting of the previous night.

“You didn’t notice it? Zeph’s anaesthetics and painkillers must be better than I thought! I thought for sure you would wake up when he broke it again, even with the sleeping draught, but-”

“How the hell am I supposed to get to Noblecourt like this? You gonna carry me again, herb boy?”

“Didn’t think you were gonna get much of anywhere unless it healed right. You weren’t really planning on walking that far with that limp of yours, were you?”

“I was, and then I was planning to walk back to Bolderfall. Get it through your thick skull.”

The apothecary considered. “Bolderfall? Why’d you come south? It’s a longer trip.”

Therion opened his mouth to answer, then decided not to. The apothecary already knew more about him than he would like. “None of your damn business.” He kicked his legs off the bed and tested his ability to stand. It wasn’t quite even, and hurt ever more as soon as he put pressure on it. His face must have shown the pain, because the apothecary’s expression softened with concern.

“It’s my business if I’m gonna be carrying you.”

“You aren’t serious.”

“Well, if you really wanna go south, you’re gonna have a lot of trouble walking through the desert with that cast. I can help. It ain’t right to let a patient hurt themselves worse.” He must have been able to tell Therion hated the idea, because he quickly added “or at least, it ain’t right to let ‘em leave with an empty stomach and no painkillers. When’s the last time you ate?”

Therion’s momentary silence spoke volumes. “And I can trust you won’t poison me because…?”

He shrugged. “If I was gonna, it would’ve been easier when you were asleep.”

Perhaps he was too lightheaded from anaesthetic and hunger, but the logic seemed reasonable enough to Therion. He justified sitting at the apothecary’s table with the desire to take weight off his ankle, and did not wait for the apothecary to suggest he help himself to a bun.

The girl awoke before the apothecary finished shelling the boiled eggs, and upon seeing Therion, tugged her legs close and sat with her back to the wall as though distance and a well-placed blanket would protect her. “Alfyn! That’s the man I saw yesterday when the bell rang!”

Therion hated more than anything that he had never seen her face, while she knew perfectly well who he was and what he looked like.

“Yeah! I found him, thanks to your description. And Zeph fixed up his ankle.”

“He’s got the bracelet you warned me about. He’s a criminal,” she added quietly, knowing the apothecary was well aware.

“He returned my coin-purse, didn’t he? People change. And it ain’t right to refuse to treat anyone, doesn’t matter who he is.”

“It’s not right to drug someone and treat them without their permission, either, but here we are,” Therion muttered, tearing pieces off the bun and allowing them to dissolve in his mouth to let the taste last as long as it could. “And for the record, no, they don’t.”

She seemed terrified to move, her mouth agape and her eyes angled sideways at Therion. He would normally have no problem with such a thing, but she was a child, and if he had proven anything to himself the previous night it was that he did indeed have standards, low though they might be. He sighed, pulled the dagger and shortsword from his cloak, and dropped them on the floor a few feet away. “If you want to leave, you have no reason to fear I’ll hurt you. He broke my ankle; I won’t be able to reach them before you’re out the door.”

She nodded wordlessly and dashed away.

The apothecary- Alfyn, the girl had called him- glared at him. Therion shot back a dead stare as though daring him to question him. He did not expect the apothecary to actually do so.

“I didn’t want her to be afraid of you. I can tell you don’t think it of yourself, but you’re not a bad person, and she ought’a get used to you being around if Zeph’s gonna set your wrist and shoulder right. All you’ve done is show her you’re armed. Good going.”

“Let me break this down for you, since you clearly don’t understand,” Therion muttered, slowly and incredulously. “One. I _am_ armed, and I _am_ a criminal, and she is far more logical than you to think she should not be in the same house as I am.” He wondered momentarily whether it was a poor decision to state it so clearly, but the apothecary did not seem the type to report him to authorities unless he flat-out stabbed Nina. “Two,” he added before Alfyn could cut in, “like hell I’m going to let you break me twice more. And three- how are you qualified to practice medicine when you can’t even recognize the signs of a panic attack?”

“She wasn’t-”

“Oh yeah, she was. Pale skin, shallow breathing, shivering.”

Alfyn was silent for several seconds, enough for Therion to mistakenly begin to think he had finally caught on to his reasoning.

“So you get panic attacks.”

Therion stiffened, feeling somehow vulnerable. “None of your-”

“It’s my business if I’m gonna be carrying you. I’m gonna have to brew something up for it, ain’t I?” Therion hated the apothecary’s naive grin more and more every time he saw it. “I’m heading out to collect ingredients today. I’ll find Nina then if she hasn’t come back on her own, and I’ll explain that you’re not going to hurt her.”

“You shouldn’t deceive her.”

“You would hurt an innocent child with nothing worth stealing?” He set a plate of eggs, tomatoes, and cheeses on the table, and smiled ever brighter when Therion’s lack of response confirmed he was correct once again.

Therion did not believe he had ever met a more frustrating person, even accounting for both Darius and Heathcote.

Even accounting for himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes to make an omelet, you need to break a few bones.


	3. Dislocated

The fracture ached gradually more as the anaesthetic and painkillers wore off, but Therion was not inclined to ask the apothecaries to give him any more. He had survived it years ago with no salves or tonics to quell the pain, no food or drink he did not obtain himself, and nothing to sleep on but the cold rock of the canyon until he could drag his broken body up to town. This was not even comparable, and he would be fine.

But as silent as Therion was, Zeph’s eyes were sharper than he expected. Alfyn had opted to let him sleep in as long as he liked, but mere minutes after he woke up, he noticed a grimace Therion tried to conceal and poured him a dose of tonic. He somehow recalled the acrid taste, despite not remembering taking any the previous night.

“You can take a half a teacup’s worth up to three times a day,” he instructed Therion. “Alfyn and I won’t always be here, so you can take it yourself. We brew more every two or three days, so don’t worry about running low.”

“The same applies to you; you won’t run low, since I won’t be staying two or three days,” Therion shot back, holding the empty cup out to Alfyn to wash. Alfyn obliged, silent as Therion himself, seeming somewhat ashamed.

“I’m sorry I didn’t notice it was bothering you. I should’a given you the tonic earlier, since it probably wore off almost entirely as you slept.”

If the tonic was so good he could not tell his ankle had been broken even after it had mostly worn off, Therion was not sure whether to be impressed or worried about its potency. He supposed the anaesthetic had contributed to its effect, though, so perhaps he was neither.

“So where did Nina run off to?” Zeph asked, helping himself to the food Therion and Alfyn had left.

“Who knows?” Therion replied nonchalantly, earning a glare from each apothecary.

Alfyn paused for a moment before speaking. “He… scared her off, but she’s probably by the river or picking flowers with Lily. Sorry, I don’t remember your name.”

“Because I didn’t tell you what it is. Intentionally,” Therion added before Alfyn could ask. “But she’s likely doing better now that there are no thieves with questionable motives in her general vicinity.”

“You don’t know that,” Zeph pointed out, silencing them both. “I told you to take care of her, Alfyn. You have to know where she is.”

“She’s old enough to have a bit of freedom, ain’t she?” Alfyn dared to suggest.

“Sure. But you always have to tell me where you’re going before you leave, and I gotta tell you the same. You think it’s a good idea for Nina to be the exception, so we can’t find her if we need to and so we don’t know when she’ll be back?” Zeph stood up and made for the door.

“I can tell you already that there’s no one more threatening than I am in this town,” Therion pointed out.

“Maybe you were correct yesterday, but as it is, I doubt it,” Zeph countered, raising an eyebrow at Therion’s cast.

He left before Therion could respond. The thief clenched his teeth and narrowed his eyes, anticipating the day when he would have a chance to break Zeph’s ankle in return.

"Alright, let me see your shoulder and wrist. You wanna get out of here and head off to Noblecourt as soon as you can, right? If so, we should probably do 'em tonight."

Therion swatted Alfyn's hand away as it wandered towards his cloak. "Touch me again and you're a dead man."

"Doubt it, your weapons are three feet away." He laughed, a response Therion simultaneously thought impossible and knew would be his only possible reaction. And yet it was lighthearted, not a cackle, and not at his expense. He took Therion's hand as though it was made of glass and unwrapped the old bandages around his wrist. Noticing the other hand was wrapped the same way, he took advantage of Therion's frustrated apathy and unwrapped it, pulling the bandage from under the shackle.

With cold metal now against his skin, the fool's bangle seemed all the heavier.

"Were they injured at the same time?" he asked, so utterly empathetic that Therion felt he had to tell the truth for once.

"…seconds apart," Therion admitted. "The right one… I grabbed onto a ledge as I fell, and I couldn't reach my left hand up to grab it before my fingers slipped. I fell onto my left side- that's why the left ankle, wrist, and shoulder are broken. Were," he corrected himself. "They were broken. They had healed together."

The apothecary seemed astonished, and not only by the honesty he had come not to expect from Therion. "How long ago was this?"

Therion shifted. "Years."

"When did you put these bandages on?"

No answer.

"Do they hurt less with the bandages?"

"Same pain. Less… detached."

Therion was expecting a question regarding why he had fallen off a cliff, but it seemed the apothecary had started to learn what questions he would not receive an answer to. Instead he carefully maneuvered his right wrist, pressed gently on specific spots, observed what caused Therion to wince.

"I wish you'd seen me earlier. Before the bones set into the wrong place, of course, but especially for this. It's- it's only dislocated. I can put it back into place in seconds, and you won’t even need anaesthetic." Alfyn's expression was sheepish despite his innocence in the matter.

"You're kidding." The apothecary shook his head. "Do it, then."

"Alright. I did want your permission this time. Turn towards me?"

He complied, and hesitantly extended his hand. It took more effort than Alfyn seemed to expect, but true to his word, he physically fit it back into place. It hurt, but not as Therion anticipated, and a rush of relief swept through him even as he could feel his heart beating painfully in his wrist.

"I'll wrap it up again- this time in clean bandages- so it won't go out of place." Alfyn did it more tightly and with more precision than Therion's poor efforts to tie the stolen bandages months earlier. "And if it does, just tell me so, and I'll set it right."

With no intention whatsoever to do so, Therion nodded.

“I won’t do your other wrist just yet. I’d have to break it again, just like your ankle, and I’d rather you be asleep when I do. Less likely to kill me that way,” Alfyn chuckled. “Besides. Zeph is better at that than I am.”

“Alfyn!” Speak of the apothecary and he doth appear. “Open the door!”

Hearing the desperation in his tone, Alfyn obliged with haste. Zeph had indeed returned with Nina, but she was unconscious in his arms. Lily had followed him. He laid Nina in her bed, and Therion noticed despite his shielding posture that there were bite marks piercing into her arm.

“So there _is_ a soul more depraved than I am in this town,” he remarked.

“No, you reign supreme on that account. She left town, _Alfyn_ , and was bitten by a venomous snake. I wouldn’t have found her if Lily hadn’t called out for help. I’d love to say I could just whip up the antidote, but I didn’t see the culprit, and couldn’t risk letting it bite Lily as well. I’m going to have to head back and find it.”

“No, you’re not.” Alfyn’s tone was harsher than Therion had yet heard it. “Nina needs you. I’ll go- it was my fault she left to begin with.”

Therion raised an eyebrow. “Was it?”

“Just get the right proportions of the other ingredients ready, and don’t turn on the heat ‘til you see me coming back.” He picked one of Therion’s blades off the floor. “Should be able to get a clean slice through it with this!”

Therion extended an expectant, properly bandaged hand. “That’s not yours.”

“I’d wager it ain’t yours either,” Alfyn retorted.

Therion narrowed his eyes and stood up. “One of us knows how to hold his own in a real fight, herb boy, and it isn’t you. Give me my dagger and find something to shield yourself with while I fillet this snake.” As though the cast did not hinder him at all, he snatched the dagger from Alfyn’s hand, picked up his shortsword, and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TLDR: Zeph cares about Nina and is snarkier than Therion for 5.7 seconds.


	4. Venomous

“That’s your brilliant idea of a shield?” Therion cast a doubtful glance. “I distinctly recall pointing out that you have no idea how to use a blade larger than the knife you use to cut up your herbs.”

He had taken a hatchet with him- the kind Therion assumed was meant only for cutting down tomato plants in the fall- the kind that would take more than a single swing to cut down each tomato plant. The apothecary seemed nevertheless delighted with himself.

“Yeah! And I took some potions with me-”

“Ah, great. You’ll be able to numb the snake’s pain after I cut it in pieces.”

“-that release stinging gas into the air that can temporarily blind the snake,” Alfyn finished. “So you’ll want to put a mask on before we get there. They’re faster than you think, so it’s useful if you can hinder them before they make a move.”

Therion silently accepted the mask Alfyn offered to him, and tied it around his face to accept the apothecary’s proposal without admitting he was wrong. Clearly, he was capable of more than just healing. Therion hadn’t been able to tell, and it worried him that he might be missing something more.

They ventured into the caves, Alfyn taking the lead and Therion’s eyes darting in every direction. “Some of Nina’s favourite flowers grow here,” Alfyn explained as they ventured forth, his voice too indiscreet for Therion’s liking. “That’s probably why she was here in the first place. They only grow one month of the year. Y’know, if this goes well, I’ll pick some for her. You can get some medicinal use out of the stems; they make a fine salve to relieve itching, but I don’t pick them very often ‘cause-”

“Shut up. I don’t care. We’re only here to kill a snake, and it’ll go into hiding if you keep running your mouth.”

To his surprise, Alfyn did, in fact, shut up. It was enough of a difference that Therion began to notice the sounds of running water and flitting wings. Maybe the river that flowed through Clearbrook ran beneath the cave.

The wings, he quickly learned, belonged to a colony of bats, which he was forced to shoo away on more than one occasion. He began to wonder whether snakes were known to eat bats, and though he pointedly said nothing, he did not have to wait long to find out.

They were truly as agile as Alfyn had described. From a ledge far above them, he spotted the wretched creature pluck a bat from mid-air as the colony flew by, then swallow the bat whole. Therion grabbed Alfyn’s shoulder, daring not to take his eyes off the serpent. 

This startled the apothecary, but he understood as soon as he followed Therion’s gaze. Immediately he dug through his satchel for the blinding potion.

“You didn’t have it ready?” Therion hissed.

“Just worry about getting it down from there. Nina needs us as soon as possible.”

Therion walked ahead, noticing a more brightly lit area, and drew his sword.

“What are you doing?”

“Didn’t I tell you to shut up?” Therion angled his blade so the light hit it, and carefully turned it to shine directly at the snake. As he hoped, it provoked the snake to leap down, baring its fangs. Alfyn smashed the potion on the ground as it approached, and though he could not see it through the apothecary’s mask, Therion was almost certain he was grinning as it writhed about in the smoke, trying to orient itself.

It was as good a time as any, Therion decided, to lunge in and slice its head off, but it was dreadfully evasive even when blinded. It darted through his legs, giving the thief not even time to step on its tail to hold it in place. Instead he was forced to spin around to ensure it did not take him by surprise, and he did so just in time. It was positioned to strike. He leapt to the right to evade its bite.

And did not account for the weight of the cast.

The fraction of a second his left leg lagged behind him was sufficient for the snake to sink its fangs into the bandages. But in a rapid turn of events, the fraction of a second required for its teeth to pierce through the solid cast was sufficient for Alfyn to swing his hatchet and slice cleanly through the snake’s body.

Therion sunk to his knee, breathing heavily.

“Are you alright?” It was concern in the apothecary’s tone, not panic. With the venom, he would be able to concoct the antidote quite easily; it was Therion’s immediate ability to walk that might be less simple.

“Fine.” His lack of breath indicated otherwise. He pried the viper’s jaw open and tugged it from the cast. “You need this godsawful thing, right? Put it in your satchel, I’m not carrying anything I don’t have to.” He snapped the jaw shut and tossed the head Alfyn’s way. The apothecary caught it and slipped it in one of the bag’s many pockets.

“Neither am I. So I’ll just be carrying my satchel… and you.”

“Don’t touch me!” Therion pulled away as the healer reached forward. When he looked up again, Alfyn had turned away and was ten paces ahead of him. Unsure if he fully remembered the way out of the cave, Therion rushed to stand up and tried to ignore the lightheadedness that accompanied it.

When his vision cleared, Alfyn was returning, a long, sturdy, moss-covered stick in his hand. “Ain’t perfect, but it should help with walking if you don’t want me to give you a hand. Tell me if you don’t feel right. I don’t want you to pass out, but with the venom, you might anyway.” He paused, handing the stick to Therion. “You jumped up pretty quickly. Did you think I was leaving you here?”

He was not surprised Therion did not respond.

But as they walked back to town, more slowly than they had come, Therion spoke up. “Ever met a guy called Ogen?”

“Don’t believe I have.”

Therion had no trouble believing it; Alfyn seemed absolutely unlikely to forget anyone. “He’s another apothecary, so I thought you might’ve met. He travels from town to town. Really knows his stuff.”

“Sounds like a great person! I hope I can meet him someday.”

“Don’t jump to conclusions. I’m not done.” He sighed, and Alfyn was silent. “Just because an apothecary is willing to help people in general doesn’t mean he is willing to help a thief.”

“So you thought I was gonna be like him.”

“No. I thought you were gonna be worse. He didn’t pretend to try to heal anyone he didn’t intend to help. I thought you broke my ankle so it would be the easiest thing in the world to leave me somewhere to die.”

Alfyn stopped in his tracks. “You thought- Gods no! Even if I was that kind of person, I’d have no motive!”

“I stole your coin purse and the ashes of your parents. Seems like motive enough to me.” Therion kept walking, supporting most of his weight with the stick. “Try to keep up, herb boy. We’re trying to get back to town before the venom starts to matter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternative title: Therion Knows More Than Alfyn About The Law Because He Is Constantly Breaking It  
> Alternative title II: Viper? I Barely Even Know Her


	5. Addled Lucidity

"I got it. Anything else the antidote needs?"

"Just heat and time. Is he alright? He looks more pale than I expected, even for someone who's been running around and fighting on a broken leg."

"The viper bit him through the cast."

"You didn't help him get back?"

"He wouldn't let me. Still can't tell if it's pride or a fear of being touched."

Therion could still distinguish between the two voices and had a general idea which bed he had slept in the previous night, but his vision was blurry and he wasn't about to try to join in on the conversation. He limped to the bed to sit down. The chain on his bangle rattled against the frame, drawing the attention of the girl Nina had come home with.

"He's a thief!"

"Yeah. But without him, we might not have the antidote."

"How do you know he won't _steal_ the antidote?"

_He doesn't,_ Therion thought, lying down on his side, facing away from the others. _Once I have it, what reason would I have to stay here?_

"He won't have to; we're giving him some. No reason to take what you already have."

"Why would you give him any?"

His eyes gradually closed, and though Alfyn answered her, Therion did not understand what was said. He slipped out of consciousness wishing he knew the answer and wondering whether his wrist and shoulder would be broken when he woke up.

He realized he was certain he would wake up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone told me not all my chapters have to be the same length and I went and ran with it


	6. Ray of Sunshine

It was nighttime, and Therion was not particularly inclined to move. The anaesthetic was stronger than he had yet realized, having only felt its effects once it had mostly worn off. Now his chest, arm, and hand were numb, and it was this and not the pain that indicated to him that Zeph had broken them. He was certain it would be difficult to sit up, and because no fire was burning in the fireplace, he did not much want to leave the heat of the blanket. The night was cold and he was not wearing his scarf, cloak, or even shirt-

Had he taken them off before falling unconscious? He doubted so. The apothecaries must have taken his clothing before the procedure, and by extent…

Therion ran his fingers across a relatively recent wound. Stitches. Yes, they had seen the full extent of his scars. The physical ones, at least. He supposed they would not have been surprised.

Feeling exceptionally naked, Therion stood to retrieve his clothes- including his pants, to his chagrin- from the string hanging beside the fireplace. They were clean, smelling only of smoke, and, much like himself, had the holes mended and stitched. The effort of putting them on without turning his shoulder was more than he expected, and he opted to light the fireplace to keep warm before trying a second time.

Even despite the cast thudding against the floor with every step and the fool's bangle jingling about his wrist, none of the others awoke. Therion prided himself on his subtlety, but this could only be attributed to a truly unspeakable hour of the morning or a sleeping draught. He wondered how early it must be, whether they still would not wake up if he happened to touch two glass bottles as he took them from the house, whether any other townsfolk would see him meander from town with food, medicine, and fuller pockets…

…and whether he truly wanted to leave.

He took a bun from the bowl on the table, slipped an apple in his pocket, and set a cup of water to heat above the fire, seeing no reason not to help himself to coffee for the first time in months. He questioned the decision upon trying to measure coffee grinds with one hand, but success led him to the smug thought that he was more dexterous than Alfyn even with one wrist broken.

His hand brushed against a neatly mended seam in his cloak as he returned the coffee to the apothecaries' cupboard, and he realized with frustration he was not. He could not have sewn even before the apothecaries impeded the movement of his extremities.

With newfound realism, he opted to eat the bread dry, doubting he would have success with butter or jam. Coffee and bread would fill his stomach, and what more did he really need? He would take some buns with him as well, but only a few, and he would need to ration them. Water would be of maximal importance in a desert without water for days at a time, but he did not want to leave without the bottle of painkiller either, and he would need to keep his dagger in his cloak if he could not use his left arm. It had plenty of concealed pockets, but he nevertheless began to wonder if he could truly cross the desert successfully with such limited supplies.

Surely the apothecaries had a spare satchel somewhere. Therion opened a closet by the door to sort through it, and a pang of envy shot through him to see the proper winter coats therein. He had not wanted to travel south- he had doubted his ability to survive in the Frostlands with the clothing he had. The inhospitable desert did not seem so terrible as hypothermia- but Alfyn seemed to be more prepared for either than Therion, despite having no intention to leave town.

 _So take his coat,_ Therion silently encouraged himself. _It’s spring; he will not even know it’s gone for months, by which time he will have forgotten about you and assumed he misplaced it. Your other option is trekking kilometres through sand dunes and running low on water, along the path you explicitly told him you were going to take, and he’s faster than you now._

He left the coats, closed the closet, and sat down to bitterly finish eating.

_You’re an idiot and you know it._

He had never second-guessed his heists to such a degree- there was scarcely enough time to obtain what he was stealing and flee, never mind to debate whether he should or should not take it. But having been personally acquainted with the apothecary’s coin purse, Therion knew he would not be able to afford a new one. And besides, was it not now the same distance regardless of which path he took? He would save himself an unnecessary trip back to Bolderfall, a town he now resented as the place he was successfully deceived twice.

He washed down the dregs of his coffee with half a cup of painkiller and was not sure which tasted more bitter. Upon setting his dishes for Alfyn to wash, he noticed, bitter as the painkiller, that he was not the only one who had stirred.

“You’re awake!” It was no louder than a whisper, but delight was evident in Alfyn’s voice.

“So are you.” Therion’s dead stare indicated what he thought of _that_.

Alfyn’s eyebrows furrowed, just long enough for Therion to think the apothecary might actually have taken offense, but he was immediately proven wrong. “You didn’t have to light the fire and cook. Could’ve woken any of us to ask, if you were hungry or cold; I’d rather you be resting. And- how’d you get your clothes on with only one arm? Here, I can help you with the buttons on your shirt.”

“I’d rather _you_ be resting, it makes it easier for me to leave.”

“Good I woke up, then, ‘cause I’m not letting you leave.” There was that uneasy feeling again, that the apothecary might be a sociopath- “Not until you get another dose of antivenom and a sling to keep your arm steady. Don’t want you throwing your shoulder out of place.”

And it was gone. He was starting to believe Alfyn legitimately cared about him. It was ridiculous.

“I really don’t think your body would be up for crossing the desert, though. How urgent is this trip to Noblecourt? Can’t it be delayed a little while? I mean- at least until sunrise, surely.”

Therion paused, then resented that he had. Of course it was important to get the manacle off. But neither apothecary seemed to care it was there, so it had slipped his mind for longer than he had expected. So long as he was here, it didn’t _matter_ that he was not only a thief but a thief who had failed.

And Alfyn had noticed that his silence had lasted longer than a second, and was smiling brightly. “Thought so.”

But it did matter, didn’t it? Nina had suffered a panic attack upon seeing it, and with good reason. There was no reason to assume he was unlike Darius. And it was too likely that she would react the same way upon realizing that he was _still_ in her house- _still_ a constant threat who could stab any of them in their sleep, steal whatever they held dear, set the house on fire.

“I’m leaving the moment the first light of morning comes over the horizon or Nina awakens- whichever comes first. Finish what you need to before then.”

“Great! I’ll pack my belongings.”

“You’ll _what_?”

Alfyn gave him the most sarcastic look he had yet seen grace the apothecary’s face, like he could not have asked a question with a more obvious answer. “Someone’s gotta make sure your wounds heal properly this time. You got a better idea than letting me tag along?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Press + for Travel Banter
> 
> Therion: Making my way downtown, limping fast-  
> Alfyn: Your bones still need to heal!!!  
> Therion: -limping faster


	7. Therion

The antivenom, much to Therion’s dismay, had to be administered by injection, since they only had a small amount of venom and it was more effective if it could go right to the bloodstream. He was ready to leave when the apothecary prepared a shot for Nina, but to his surprise, he did not inject it.

“You said you’d leave if she woke up,” Alfyn responded before Therion could bother to ask. “Ain’t gonna let you leave just yet.”

He did rouse Zeph, however, and gestured him to come outside to speak. Therion let them be, the temptation of waking Nina clawing at his subconscious, but he supposed it would be unfair not to give the apothecary time. He had been given a lifesaving antidote and three surgeries, after all. And they had not asked him for anything in return.

Ah. That would be why Alfyn carried so little money. The idiot did not charge any.

They returned inside and filled Zeph’s satchel with every manner of herb and no less than twenty vials of tonic. Therion did not have to wonder why for long; Alfyn fixed it over his shoulder and handed his satchel to Zeph. Therion turned away as they embraced, wondering if he was intruding on something.

“Alright, guess I’ll wake up Nina. Don’t leave without me, I wanna say goodbye.”

Therion hummed, noncommittal, and left the house.

The sun, Therion noticed, was rising over the horizon, colouring the sky with splashes of orange and pink. Even if the apothecary postponed waking Nina, Therion’s time limit had passed. He could not explain even to himself why he waited.

Just as Therion began to wonder what was taking so long, Alfyn came out. "Sorry!" he apologized, sounding more cheerful than anything, "I had to give her the injection too, and well, she had lots of questions, wanted to know where I was goin', you know how it is with family."

Therion didn't, but he didn't point it out.

"We're filling as many bottles as we can with water from the river while we're here, then we're heading south. We'll make a brief stop in Sunshade for more food and water, which should take us right to the Highlands in… six or seven days. I would normally take it in three," he pointed out with venom in his tone.

"Great! I brought a loaf of bread with me, and some dried fruit. Should last us until Sunshade, easily. Oh, and masks, to keep the sand from blowin' into our mouths."

Therion had not considered that.

“Take the hatchet with you.”

“Why?”

“Because I only have one arm to fight lizardmen with, and I plan to use it to protect _myself_. Unless you want me to steal a better weapon for you, take it.”

The apothecary seemed to have forgotten they might be ambushed by monsters. He went pale, then dashed back to retrieve the axe. Therion hated how easily he caught up.

They filled numerous bottles (and flasks, Therion noticed) with water and pressed onward.

“So what _is_ your name?” Alfyn asked as they left town.

“Guess,” Therion dryly replied.

“You’re real determined not to say, ain’tcha?” Realization seemed to dawn on him. “Did you forget what it was? I mean, when you fell and broke your bones and all…”

“No.” It was a good question, Therion admitted to himself. He had always thought of the fall in terms of the pain Darius had inflicted upon him- not in terms of how incredibly lucky he had been. He might have died, and at the time had wished he had, but worse, he might have hit his head and lost his memory, or fallen on his back and been paralyzed and completely unable to crawl to safety. He might have been forced to lie for days at the bottom of the canyon, unable to move and waiting for dehydration to do him in. He could not find it in himself to reply for several seconds.

“It’s just easier not to be caught if there are no names floating around.”

“Just didn’t think you wanted me to go around callin’ you ‘Mr Thief’, that’s all.”

He was right- that would be _considerably_ worse- intolerable, even. He could not imagine retrieving even a single dragonstone if he was forced to put up with _that_. Had Alfyn not made his job hard enough already?

“It’s Therion. Now shut up.”

“Alright.”

To his credit, the apothecary stayed quiet longer than Therion guessed he might. He seemed perfectly satisfied looking around at the changing scenery as trees became scarce and failed to shield them from dry wind and blazing sunlight. Therion was less satisfied. The sling created yet another layer of insulation to contend with, as though his shirt and cloak were not enough. At least he had not been able to button his shirt; the opening provided him a bit of air. He supposed he could take the cloak off, but it contained everything he had recently pickpocketed, and using his good arm to carry it would leave him open to attack.

After hours of walking in silence, the lack of scenery in the ocean of sand was beginning to bore them both. Alfyn was not the most perceptive, but Therion could tell even he had noticed.

“Fine. Talk, if you really want to. Gods know you can for hours at a time. Just don’t waste so much breath we run out of water.”

Alfyn brightened. "I was just wonderin' where you're from."

"I didn't mean about _me_." Therion glared, quieting the apothecary. Nearly a minute passed before he grumbled "Orsterra."

"So where are you livin' now?"

"I'm _not_. I'm wandering around stealing from people so I have enough to eat, then leaving before anyone notices."

"You got any family?"

"Must have at some point."

"Shucks, Therion, you got _anything_ to talk about?"

"I shouldn't need to."

Enough time passed that Therion convinced himself the apothecary would not ask him anything else, and began to debate whether he hated persisting the sun in silence more than he hated being interviewed.

"How'd you fall?"

Being interviewed was worse by far.

Therion gritted his teeth. "Left arm first."

"Ain't what I meant."

"You think I don't know that? Why don't you go ahead and tell someone who might as well be a stranger the gory details of the most horrifying thing that's ever happened to _you_?" Therion snapped.

"Didn't think you wanted to hear 'em. 'Sides, I was too feverish at the time to remember much of it. I just remember cryin' in pain for my parents, and the apothecary quietly tellin' me they couldn't come. Took more than a week for him to break it to me why."

Therion hadn't expected an answer. Moreover, he had none, and opted not to say anything.

"Sometimes I wonder if it was Dohter himself who saved me, but it can't be; unless they were already gone when he arrived, Dohter would have been able to save my parents, wouldn't he? But I still think that man was some kind of angel for stayin' with me even after I recovered, to make sure I had somewhere to stay, and food to eat. So I'm tryin' to emulate him, 'cause if I can save someone's life that makes mine worth living, right?"

Therion looked away, finding nothing to look at in the waves of hot sand, but unable to look Alfyn in the eye. It had just sunk in that _his_ life was not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Therion: Did I fucking _ask_ for your entire tragic backstory?  
>  Alfyn: ...  
> Alfyn: yes?


	8. A Murder of Crows

"So you've been through the desert before," Alfyn recalled. "When you see mirages, they're supposed to look like pools of water, right?"

"If you're delirious or hallucinating, drink. We have lots of water, and even at this pace, it can't be too far until Sunshade." Therion had permitted himself a few sips every hour or so, but Alfyn had wanted to conserve his supply, and had only finished off a single bottle in the past two days. Therion had begun to wonder if he was trying to save some for him.

"No, I mean- mirages ain't supposed to look like _people_ , are they?"

Following Alfyn's line of sight led Therion to the same question. He did not have to wonder for long, as a gust of wind rolled through the desert and the woman in the distance held her arm up to shield her face from the sand. She seemed to be running; from what, Therion could not accurately guess.

"She's not a mirage."

"Then she might be able to give us directions! Possible she's heading from Sunshade."

Alfyn's eagerness to run towards her hung in the air, but his determination not to leave Therion behind won out. Fortunately for him, the woman ran directly towards them. Therion would be lying if he claimed his first thought was not that she wanted directions from them as well.

Then she raised a knife.

"Remove your cloak," she demanded.

Therion hesitated a moment, less because of what he was hiding therein and more because he was trying to figure out why. The heat of the desert and her piercing, icy glare convinced him, but before he could move, Alfyn had already dashed in front of him, shielding him completely.

"If you're with him and he is who I believe he is, I will have no trouble stabbing you as well," she warned. Therion noticed her dagger already had blood on it- and based on the colour, it was very recent.

"I believe you! But I can't let you hurt him worse."

Therion dropped his cloak on the sand and put his hand on Alfyn's shoulder. "Cool it."

She froze and lowered her knife. "You… A sling? Unless there's naught to see but a cast underneath, I'll have to ask you to take it off as well." She glanced quickly over her shoulder. "Then again… If you were one of _them_ , Gods know you would not take even the cloak off."

"One of who?" Alfyn inquired. "Keep the sling on," he ordered Therion as an aside.

"I'm _hot_ ," the thief complained, trying to untie the knot behind his neck.

"Forgive me. I'm looking for three men with crow tattoos. One recently fled Sunshade- I've lost track of him- but I thought you might be one of the others, given that you held both arms under your mantle," the woman explained, glancing once more over her shoulder. "I believed you were hiding something. I did not realize it was a wound."

"Who's following you?" Therion demanded.

"I can't say. Surely someone is. I've just killed my master."

"Why?"

"He has abused me for years, and today murdered my only friend by pushing her from a cliff. I could not tolerate him, and had no other way to escape him and pursue the man with the crow tattoo."

Therion froze and crossed his arms as though hiding them under his cloak. "Pushed her off a cliff? Who was he? What did he look like?"

The woman tilted her head in confusion. "He was a terrible, wealthy man who forced us dancers to pleasure him. He was fat, had dark hair and a mustache, and seemed to drink nothing but wine; and now that I've pierced a hole through his throat, he does so considerably less. He was called Helgenish."

Therion's voice caught in his throat, and he waited for Alfyn to speak.

"What about your friend? I'm an apothecary. Maybe I can take a look at her. I mean, I've already got a patient who survived a fall off a cliff!"

When had it _ever_ been a good idea to let Alfyn speak? Therion cursed under his breath.

"She is dead, I'm afraid- no breath and no pulse. Your salves might work wonders on the living, but only the Gods can spare her soul now." The dancer did not ask any questions, but Therion noticed her eyes dart towards his cast. Perhaps she had figured it out and did not need to.

"We're heading east," Therion numbly commented, picking his cloak off the ground, shaking it off, and pulling it back over his head.. "I know of a few ways to conceal your identity, and we can get you to the next town."

Alfyn beamed- Therion was sure he could not have looked more proud. "Sure thing!"

The dancer curtseyed. "In that case, a pleasure. But I wonder if you have enough water to make it there, especially if you now intend for it to serve three people. Were you planning on coming to Sunshade?"

"That's right," Alfyn replied.

"I cannot return there. There's a village to the south known as Wellspring. I hope you do not mind if we stop there in Sunshade's stead."

"Sure." Therion was quick to reply. If anything, he wished he had considered it first- it was known for its black market, and he might be able to find something of value. "I'll make sure we get a nice room at the inn."

Alfyn raised an eyebrow, remembering finding Therion asleep outside.

"I have no doubt you will," the dancer replied, eyeing Therion's bangle. "I am Primrose. A pleasure."

Alfyn shook her hand. Therion tucked his safely under his cloak.

"It is polite to shake a lady's hand upon meeting her- but you know that. You've stolen something of mine, haven't you?"

Therion tossed her coin purse in her general direction, muttering under his breath as he turned south.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Press + For Travel Banter
> 
> Therion: I'm so _hot_.  
>  Primrose, under her breath: hot damn  
> Therion: what  
> Alfyn: what  
> Primrose: what


	9. Promise

Alfyn offered to carry him no less than three times before they arrived in Wellspring, and Therion was beginning to tire of it. It did not help that he was physically exhausted as well, after so many hours of treading through sand. And truly, it was _many_ hours. Primrose had refused to let them rest in the middle of the desert, so it was nearly dawn when they reached the town.

He understood why she would not rest if she believed she was being followed- better than Alfyn could claim to understand- but it did not make the uneven walk less disorienting. By the time they reached Wellspring, Therion doubted he could steal anything, never mind something valuable enough to pay for a room at the inn. Primrose, displeased but knowing it was her doing, paid for their lodgings.

She could afford only two beds, however, and guiltily explained that her master had kept nearly all the money she had earned over the years, leaving her only enough to buy food and water. Once she entered the room, Therion closed the door and pulled Alfyn aside in the hall.

"You're not sharing a bed with her, and neither am I. She's been forced to sleep with so many men over the years that she won't be able to object if you propose it, but don't you _dare_."

Alfyn nodded, innocently putting his hands up. It was clear in his eyes that he had not thought of it.

The apothecary offered to take the floor, asking only for each of them to spare a pillow, and Therion did not object to the prospect of sleeping alone. He accepted a dose of painkiller almost eagerly, and slept, much like his companions, past noon.

Once again, he was the first to wake, and quietly left the room, permitting them to sleep while he became friendly with the barkeep. He left the tavern somewhat richer than he had been upon entering, and found himself slipping a few coins into Primrose's purse before waking her and Alfyn.

"Wake up. It's a beautiful day to infiltrate a black market, and I've no doubt you two will prove useful, assuming you follow my every word and don't get yourselves killed." Therion pulled each curtain open in a swift motion and cursed his inability to open both at once.

"Didn't you say we were goin' to Noblecourt?" Alfyn sleepily asked.

"We are. But if there's anywhere else in Orsterra I might find one of the _other_ dragonstones, this is the place. Primrose had the right idea."

"My idea was to stop here for _water_."

"Alright. Enjoy your water, then, and pray to Aeber that I won't need to make a quick escape out of there," Therion harshly replied. "I'm going to ask around if anyone knows about the market or has seen one of the stones."

Alfyn eyed him carefully. "You're more confident about this than you ought'a be, and you smell like mead. You went to the tavern."

"So?"

"So you should've asked me if it was safe to drink when you're takin' my medicine, and you shouldn't be going somewhere dangerous before you're sober enough to recognize it and run in a straight line."

"I had _one_ drink. And the danger was damn near the first thing I pointed out."

"But somethin' tells me you can't exactly run in a straight line- or at all."

Primrose grabbed his cloak as he lunged forward to strike Alfyn. The seam tightened around his neck, forcing him to step back. The apothecary had no right to criticize his agility- not after breaking his ankle.

"Alfyn's right," Primrose added, her voice smooth and almost calming. "The sort of men you'll find in a black market are unlikely to lower their daggers upon realizing you're injured. Even if you do find something of value, it would be all too easy for them to kill you for it. I've no idea why you want a dragonstone so badly, but it can't be worth your life."

_You're overestimating the value of my life_ , Therion dared not say aloud. Alfyn would no doubt find a counter-argument in a fraction of a second- something about how it would be pointless to remove the fool's bangle if he got himself killed. Or, equally likely, something ridiculous about how even criminals did not deserve death.

But he knew that every word she said was grounded in truth. He had seen careless thieves overestimate themselves and be filleted in retribution.

He used to laugh about it with Darius, confident he would never be so stupid.

Why was he hesitating to agree?

"Look. Once we get to Noblecourt, I'll be doing the same thing: I've been _thoroughly convinced_ that it's worth my time to steal the dragonstones, and it won't be any less dangerous there than it is here."

Alfyn shifted and crossed his arms, wary but wanting to disagree. "S'pose I'll have to keep you from runnin' off to Noblecourt, then. At least until I'm convinced your ankle's healed properly."

"How do you plan on doing that?"

The apothecary chuckled and held up a clear tincture. "Come on, you really need to ask?"

"I ought to have left you here to sleep. You've got some obsession with drugging me."

Primrose cleared her throat. "Boys."

Something about her voice was impressive, Therion noted, as though she was commanding the room even when only three people were in it.

" _Someone_ promised me he would help me conceal my identity such that I may continue pursuing the men who killed my father. And I shall insist, even if he refuses for some reason known only to the gods to let himself heal, that he at least keep his word before he goes on any spectacular heists." She paused. "And that he permit me to accompany him when he does, because it sounds absolutely exciting, and because he is in no shape to do so alone."

Therion had already considered the possibility of having them help. Normally he preferred to work alone, but Primrose's agility would make up for his lack thereof, and he would not object to taking along a few of Alfyn's concoctions.

"You'll have to give me some time," Therion proposed, leaving the room.

"To think?" Primrose asked.

"To _rest_ ," Alfyn interrupted.

"To find you a cloak." Therion shut the door firmly behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Press + for Travel Banter
> 
> Alfyn: Aw, you really care about Nina and Primrose, don'tcha?  
> Therion: has already walked away


	10. Prince of Thieves

Therion's accusation that Alfyn seemed intent on drugging him did not work in his favour that evening, when the apothecary pointed out that he must not want him to provide any painkiller. Primrose found it spectacularly humorous and spent the final hours of the day conversing with Alfyn as he cut and hemmed the material Therion had procured for her cloak. Considerably less amused, Therion lay on his right side and silently eavesdropped on their conversation until he fell asleep, finding no reason to stay up if he would have to endure the pain.

"Whatever convinces him to rest," Alfyn whispered, pausing the project for a few moments to cover Therion with a light blanket.

He awoke before the others once again and drank straight from the bottle of tonic, finding it far less repulsive now that he was fully aware how much it helped.

"I hardly think Alfyn would approve of that," Primrose noted as he took his last gulp. He choked on the tonic, not expecting her to be awake, and his subsequent coughing woke Alfyn. Primrose's laughing convinced the apothecary not to be concerned.

"We need to go over the plan," Therion snapped. "Did Alfyn finish your cloak last night?"

She hummed an affirmative, unfolding the finished piece from her bedside table and putting it on. It came past her elbows all around, but was longer in the back, and unlike his own, was equipped with a hood that shaded her eyes. For a moment he was jealous that she was less easily identifiable than he was, but realized it was probably for the best.

"Suppose you'll be protected from sunburn. Can you see in every direction?"

"Oh, yes. I think it's excellent. Thank you once again, Alfyn," she sang.

"It was nothing," Alfyn sleepily replied. "So, the plan? Do you need me for anything?"

"I hope not to, but for the sake of safety, it would be useful if we could each carry a blinding potion like you used on the viper."

Alfyn nodded, tied his hair back, and set to mixing together ingredients Therion still did not know the names of.

"If all goes well, we will simply walk into the market, ten paces separated, take it, and leave. I will give you a signal by brushing my hand through my hair once I see the stone, and you will initiate a conversation with whoever is selling it. I'll slip it under my cloak when his eyes are off me, and once he's answered your question, walk just behind me. I'll pass it to you, and you'll hide it under your cloak and start walking- not running- to the exit. If I see anyone looking at you, I'll signal you by coughing twice, and if I do, run like mad and take the cap off the potion Alfyn's brewing. Point it anywhere except at yourself, and if someone gives you trouble, break the vial on his skin. If you do not see me brush my hand through my hair, assume the stone is not there, and leave without speaking a word to anyone, including me. Any questions?"

"If someone sees you take the stone or pass it to me…?" Primrose began the sentence and assumed Therion would finish it.

He smirked. "Don't be daft. This isn't my first black market."

"I can see that. But it is mine, and if someone sees you, it might be your last."

"Fine. If that happens, I'll draw my dagger. I would have no choice but to stand and fight. And I leave you with the choice of whether you would join me or leave in safety. But rest assured, I only need one swift, dexterous hand, and Alfyn's done me the service of leaving me with one."

"You're welcome!" Alfyn piped up.

"Shut up and brew the damn potion, herb boy."

They were forced to open the window and step back once the potion started to bubble, and Alfyn wore a mask as he bottled it. Even from across the room it made their eyes sting. Therion began to wonder what the innkeeper would think upon coming into the room after they left.

"It's strongest right after it's made," Alfyn explained. "The vial we used on the viper was kid's stuff in comparison."

"Good. I was wondering if it would be strong enough, since it seemed to dissipate quickly last time.” Therion rubbed his eye with his wrist and set to sharpening Primrose's dagger.

She had evidently not noticed him taking it. "How did you-"

"Alfyn left me one good hand."

"Are you going to be poking around our belongings on a regular basis?" She crossed her arms. "I'm sure it would have been easier to ask me to pass it to you."

"Where's the fun in that?" Therion rubbed the last traces of dried blood off the knife and handed it back. "Azelhart, huh? You hiding something?"

"Not nearly as much as you." She sheathed the knife. "You have not even told me your name."

"I realized that telling Alfyn was not my best move, and I'm not one to make the same mistake twice."

Alfyn stood, handed a bottle of tonic to each of them, and based on Primrose's smirk, more than likely whispered his name.

It ended up being perfectly useful that he provided each of them with a mask, because every attendee of the market was wearing one. The majority wore simple white masks that covered the whole face, but a few women seemed to believe it was a masquerade ball, and Therion noticed a few masks shaped like skulls on men who seemed likely to smash them. The surgical masks they carried were unique but not out of place, and they put them on immediately upon entering.

Primrose followed his instructions almost to the letter, heading to the stalls on the right while he went left, and he did not hear her voice amidst the crowd, so it was likely she was speaking to no one. He did not see the dragonstone for a good while, but intended to search every stall before leaving. Minutes passed, and Primrose shot him a glance from a different stall, wondering whether she ought to stay or leave.

He did not have a chance to communicate an answer before commotion arose behind them. A pair of men, masked like all the others, had shoved someone to the ground. One pulled a blade from the man's limp chest and the other took off further into the cave, carrying a shimmering green stone.

Therion's eyebrows rose and his shoulders tensed. Primrose rightly assumed why and darted after them. Pushing gently through the crowd, he followed, slowly enough to blend in but determined to find them before Primrose's light footsteps were inaudible- or worse, before life had been stolen from her as quickly as it had been from the other man.

He glanced back every few seconds, anticipating an attack. None came, but it did not stop his heart from pounding. He soon attempted to run, a lopsided limp like madly paddling a ship with oars only on one side, making his cast scrape against the rocky ground. He could not hear Primrose. He wondered if she could hear him.

It was minutes until he spotted her again, and given that it took only seconds to sheathe a dagger through a man's body, he was amazed to find that she and the two men were all still alive. Primrose had tucked herself behind a boulder, visible from Therion's vantage point but all but nonexistent to the other thieves. Her training as a dancer must have served her well, allowing her to be agile and silent.

Two things Therion most certainly was not.

They spotted him almost immediately, and he could see but not hear Primrose's breath catch in her throat. To keep them from noticing her, he stepped forth, giving them no reason to walk past the boulder.

"How'd you find us?" the taller one hissed through gritted teeth.

"I saw you run away and walked in your general direction," Therion replied, nonchalant. "If anything, you ought to have found a less obvious hiding-place."

"Kill 'im before the boss finds out about this," he growled, and the shorter, quieter one nodded, drawing a sword. His reach was longer than Therion's, making him uneasy about fighting, even if he ignored that he would be fighting two men at once while injured.

"No need for that," Therion insisted. Just as Primrose had pointed out at the inn, the thief did not lower his sword. "I'm carrying nothing of value and have not threatened you. And no one's following me, either, I'll swear my life on that."

"Then why did you come?" a voice echoed.

Neither mask had moved. They were not alone. Therion's fingers itched to draw his dagger, but knew his argument stood on no solid ground if he gave in.

Sure enough, another thief stepped out of hiding. He wore no mask, but his face was partially covered nonetheless by a long violet scarf. _Must be their leader_ , Therion assumed. _He must have sent them out so he would not bloody his hands- or risk being hurt himself._

The leader held a single hand out, and the shorter of the two lackeys passed the dragonstone to him. "You want the stone." It was not a question; the leader had figured him out with considerable confidence.

"Maybe," Therion confirmed.

"You'll have to take that up with Lord Darius. Can't imagine he'll be pleased about it. I doubt he'd even trade it for something of equal value, and you already said you've got nothing of the sort."

Therion flinched.

Had any other name come from the thief’s lips, Therion would have retained confidence that he might still escape the cavern with the stone, despite growing more aware that he would need to pry it from the hands of considerably more than two men. As it was, flashbacks of his betrayal played again and again in his mind, sometimes more vividly than the tangible scene before him. He could feel his stomach hovering and the scream refusing to escape his throat as though he was still falling.

“You got some kind of problem with that? Answer me, I’ve been sparing your life longer than you deserve.” The thief crossed his arms with a dagger in each palm and enough grace to ensure neither one cut into his arms.

Therion stepped backward. “You’re right. I should have known you wouldn’t part with it.”

“Stop him.”

It took little effort for the lackeys to come on either side of him and grab his shoulders. Therion cried out in pain the moment they touched the left one.

“Weak, aren’t you? Pathetically so. But we can’t have you running off to tell anyone where we are, or have you sneaking up on us, can we?”

Therion shook his head, no longer finding it in himself to speak.

He then smashed the blinding potion on the ground and closed his eyes.

When he opened them, the thief in the violet scarf had pulled several steps back. His lackeys had determined not to release him, but their grips were dramatically lessened now that Primrose had gotten a chance to stab each of them in the neck. The taller of the two fell first, and Therion took the chance to pry the shorter one’s hands off his left shoulder before he collapsed.

“You swore on your life no one followed you. Consider your life forfeit.”

Therion smirked. “I followed _her_. But I accept your challenge.” He drew his dagger.

The other thief turned and darted further into the cave.

“You don’t really think he’s afraid?” Primrose inquired, kneeling down to ensure neither of the lackeys had a pulse. She wiped the blood from her dagger onto one of their shirts.  
Therion considered it for a moment. “He wants to give the dragonstone to his master first, to give him a chance to escape and ensure we don’t get it even if we beat him. Come on.” He walked further into the cave.

“Give yourself a chance to breathe first. If Alfyn speaks true, you haven’t let him make you anything for your panic attacks.” Primrose pointedly did not follow him.

It was official, then- he would never tell Alfyn anything, ever again.

He wasn’t even going to deny it. The nausea hadn’t faded, and his heartbeat hadn’t slowed since he broke free of the crowd at the market. Still, there were more pressing matters to focus on. He would have to face Darius in person; if anything, it was good he had been warned.

"Therion, stay," she ordered as though commanding a dog. "You were not even able to face the lackeys alone. You've not the slightest chance of holding your own against their master, or even his subordinate, which, as you already said, is far more likely and likelier still to gain you nothing."

"I can't let Darius get away. If you can handle the man in the scarf, I might be able to make chase after him."

"Can you even hear yourself?" Primrose was nearly screaming. "For Sealticge's sake, Therion! Will you not listen to reason for once in your life?"

Footsteps echoed through the cave, and Therion instinctively looked away from the man to whom they belonged. "Ye got the same name as a tea leaf I thought I'd steeped years ago… Therion."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Press + for Travel Banter
> 
> Therion, very quietly: My sister disappeared and I'm desperately looking for her because I'm afraid she'll be killed before I find her.  
> Therion, much less quietly: There's an idiotic dancer who usually follows me around who managed to get herself lost and of _course_ it has to fall on me to look for her, even though I really don't care.


	11. Coup D’État

“Gareth told me some weak, insignificant little thief had followed me lackeys here. Gotta thank ye for cleaning ‘em up for me; I’d have had to stab ‘em if ye hadn’t. Can’t be havin’ anyone find us, ye understand.” Darius kicked one of the thieves’ bodies aside.

“So you’ve found a new partner to deceive,” Therion muttered.

“So have ye,” Darius replied, his eyes lingering on Primrose longer than she evidently cared for, if the way she raised her dagger to her chest was any indication. “She’s a pretty one, ain’t she? Bet she’s worth keepin’ alive, least for a couple nights.”

“She’s not my partner. I work alone.” Therion realized how stupid it sounded as soon as the words escaped his lips. Primrose crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. Darius sputtered a laugh, echoing throughout the cave.

“S’pose I’m hallucinating! Could’a sworn I saw blood on her dagger and not yours. But maybe- maybe you ain’t partners. Didn’t think you were the type to work for someone like her!”

“I’m not.” Finding no reason to explain himself to _Darius_ of all people, he glanced at Gareth. “Which one of you has the dragonstone?” He originally guessed Darius would, but his new toy was keeping quiet and staying further away.

“Gettin’ straight to the point, ain’tcha? Too bad that’s for me to know and you to die not knowing,” Darius replied, clapping Therion on the shoulder as though they had been friends for years.

Therion clenched his jaw to keep himself from screaming in pain, but his expression was enough of an indication that there was more than hatred and regret fueling his grimace.

Darius, amused, stepped behind him without relinquishing his grip on Therion’s shoulder, and grabbed his right wrist to twist his arm behind his back. He shoved Therion forward, and though he tried desperately to free his right hand in time, he had no choice but to catch himself with his left. This time he could not hold his tongue, but the searing wave of agony that shot through his arm and into his chest and back lasted far longer than the echo of his cry through the cave. Darius laughed and stepped between Therion’s shoulderblades, crushing his wrist underneath him, almost grinding the younger thief into dust.

Then the pressure on his back shifted.

“Let him be,” Primrose growled. “Unless you want the next one to go through your neck.”

Darius stumbled over Therion, and in his periphery Therion could see him rejoin Gareth, a growing stain of blood along his arm. He held it to stem the bleeding, to little avail.

“See you later, tea leaf. Been a pleasure.”

He grunted as Gareth tightened a makeshift bandage around his arm, and left.

“Stab me next. Fatally, though. Make it nice and quick,” Therion grumbled. “Get it over with before _he_ gets the chance to.”

“Not a chance,” Primrose replied. “You have a few options. I can bring Alfyn here, carry you back to the inn-”

“Doubt it.”

“I wouldn’t, if I were a seventy-pound thief with a tendency to eat no more than once a day lying next to a dancer who performs lifts.”

Therion scowled, but could not disagree.

“Or, if your ankle is alright, you could hold onto me and we could walk together.”

“That sounds the least humiliating.” Therion very gradually tested his ability to move, pushed his abdomen up with his intact but aching right arm, and accepted Primrose's hand as he rose to his feet. Acutely aware that the rocks had scraped his face, he adjusted his mask to cover more of it and combed his fingers through his bangs until they covered most of his forehead and eyes.

Primrose kept her arm under his and held his back steady with one hand as though leading him in a waltz. Staring at the ground for the majority of the walk led him to the conclusion that she thought the same: she timed her steps as though instinctively to match his own. He was thoroughly grateful by the time they reached the inn that she had not decided to spin him about.

He knew it would only cause Alfyn more concern if he collapsed into bed before the apothecary could even tell him to rest, but it did not stop him from tossing aside his mask, cloak, and sling and lying down. Seemingly for the first time in hours, he was able to catch his breath.

"Alright, herb boy. Do your worst."

"What happened to you?"

"Knowing you two, Primrose will probably tell you every minute detail after you put me to sleep, regardless of what I say on the matter."

Alfyn did not often look cross, and for a moment Therion wondered what he had done to deserve it, considering how long he had been tolerated. "I didn't realize this job required me to be a mind-reader. If I don't even know what hurts, how am I s'posed to help?"

Evidently he figured it out, because despite his silence, Alfyn was soon dabbing a cloth soaked in antiseptic around his forehead and down his nose and cheek. Primrose gave him a vague description of his fall onto his broken wrist, and Alfyn injected both sites with anaesthetic before removing the cast around his wrist and checking whether the bones had moved out of place. He determined his wrist was alright, and took pride in how he had wrapped the cast before setting a new one around it. His shoulder, as Therion predicted, did not hold up so well. Though it would be a lie to claim he could not feel Alfyn moving it back, the anaesthetic did its job.

"Honestly, Therion. Did I miss anything? You gotta talk to me."

Numb and exhausted, Therion mumbled a quiet "I'm alright now."

"Good. Your treatment will cost ya fifty thousand leaves. Hope you got that dragonstone of yours to pay for it!"

Therion jolted up.

"Kidding!" Alfyn assured him, gently pushing him to lie down. "Come on, you know I wouldn't do that."

"I'm not sure he wants to talk about the dragonstone," Primrose commented, biting her lip. "Those two thieves made off with it after tearing him to shreds."

"Darius," Therion corrected, "tore me to shreds. Gareth didn't lay a hand on me."

"No; he got his lackeys to do it for him." Primrose's tone was bitter- angry on his behalf. Therion felt a pang of guilt that he had brought her into it, and reminding himself that she expressly wanted to join him did not help.

"Did any of 'em hurt you, Prim?" Alfyn asked.

She hesitated a moment. "No… _they_ didn't." Therion's eyes widened a moment, wondering what he had done. She held her palms out to Alfyn, letting the apothecary examine the cuts across her fingers and palms. "Seems the House Azelhart dagger is meant to be decorative. I can't keep a proper grip on it, but I had to off those men with _something_. They would have killed Therion if I had not."

Therion exhaled, relieved it was not _entirely_ his fault. Within moments, though, the guilt returned, as he realized he had not even noticed she was hurting. "I'll get you another dagger."

Alfyn hummed, disinfecting her cuts with the same care he used on Therion. "Wish there was some other way to stop 'em, huh? The less we gotta hurt people, the better, I think. Does that hurt?" She shook her head, and he took a piece of gauze from his satchel to wrap around each palm. "That should create a little more friction and make 'em easier to grip, too!"

"You have my thanks," Primrose replied, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

Remembering why he was sleeping on the floor, Alfyn pulled back. "You don't gotta do that, it makes me happy enough just to know you're feelin' better."

Unused to such a reaction, Primrose paused for a moment, then pulled back as well. "I- …as you wish, I'm sorry."

Amused, Therion cut in. "We're heading to Cobbleston in the morning."

"That's what you'd like to think," Alfyn replied, once again cheery as ever.

"In that case, _I'm_ heading to Cobbleston and you can follow me and try to convince me otherwise. Primrose, you coming along?"

"Someone has to be the voice of reason. May as well be me."


	12. Kindness

Therion lay on his bed at the inn for their final night in Wellspring and gasped for breath. It felt as though Alfyn’s anaesthetic was coursing through his bloodstream, numbing every muscle in his body, such that he could not move any of them with much success. He could not even lift his arm, never mind use it to pry Darius’ hand off his neck.

He knew they should have killed him when they had the chance. Darius would not permit him a quick and painless death. Therion had been given the chance to die quickly, and instead had survived, sought food and water, and continued on his own. It was his fault that he did not take the opportunity when he had the chance.

It was also his fault, Darius growled, hand tightening round Therion’s neck, that they had often been caught. He was careless enough to have the fool’s bangle locked around his wrist. Even now, with his wheezing and coughing, he would likely get Darius caught in the act. He just didn’t know how to shut up.

Therion managed to turn his head towards Primrose’s bed, hoping desperately that she would awaken and help him once again. She was not there. He knew he could not rely on her. He should have learned long ago not to rely on anyone.

“Therion! Look at me!” Darius ordered. His voice was not his own- it sounded just like Alfyn’s. Therion reluctantly turned his head back to face him. “Therion, come on! Can you hear me? Wake up!”

Alfyn hastefully unwrapped and pulled Therion’s scarf from his neck, and the thief jerked upwards to sit, breathing heavily.

“Shouldn’t keep that stuff on while you’re sleeping. You were coughin’ something awful, and since you were sweating so bad, I thought you must’ve gotten a fever, maybe heatstroke… Seriously, you alright?”

“Fine. It was- childish. A nightmare.” Therion glanced to Primrose’s bed, reassuring himself that Darius had not killed her and that she had not abandoned him. She was awake and giving him the same concerned look Alfyn was.

Alfyn removed his cloak and tossed it to join his scarf. His hands moved to Therion's forehead, the back of his neck, his shoulder, examining the bruises that arose there after he moved the bones back into place, always gentle, as though Therion was some precious work of art and not a thief eager to steal one.

"I don't deserve this," he muttered dryly.

"Nightmares, you mean? Or the pain?"

"Kindness."

"Don't be ridiculous." Alfyn shuffled bottles around in his satchel and produced a green salve, which he applied generously to the thief's shoulder. "That'll do 'er. Prim, how are your hands?”

“Much better,” she sang. “I expect they will be fit to work their magic on someone willing to pay, if we require another night at the inn. The few coins I had seemed to last longer than I expected,” she remarked, glancing suspiciously at Therion. Her eyebrows only rose higher upon seeing his hands curl into fists.

“Don’t you dare go around town looking for some depraved loner desperate for sex. We’re leaving town. Meet me at the tavern in an hour and we can leave. If you’re late, I’ll head to Cobbleston without you.”

He had considered staying another night. He knew Alfyn would approve of him taking time to rest, and he was beginning to feel it was worth it. But if Primrose would have to accompany someone to bed to afford it, the idea was intolerable.

That, and he did not now know where Darius was.

He drank only water at the tavern, unwilling to listen to Alfyn rant about mixing spirits with tonics again, and pulled a dagger from the belt of a particularly angry drunk who seemed to be explaining an incoherent event entirely in curses. It was not the most well-crafted blade, and did not hold a candle to her House Azelhart dagger, but Therion was not about to return _another_ stolen item to its proper owner. With a bit of sharpening, it would do the trick, and she was concerned mainly about functionality.

She joined him perhaps ten minutes later, and upon seeing her enter, he pressed a finger to his lips, then turned to the barkeep. “This is the young woman I told you about earlier,” he quietly indicated. “Quite a beauty, isn’t she? With good reason, too: she’s the last surviving member of House Azelhart. The lord’s daughter. I’ve been acting as her bodyguard, in a manner of speaking, as she crosses the desert. I’m sure you wouldn’t mind too much if I asked you to provide her some of your finest wine, and enough water to last her until Cobbleston. I’ve not much money, but I feel I must provide for her somehow, and it’s become difficult since I fought off those lizardmen a few days ago.” He gestured to his sling.

“Azelhart! Is that true?”

“My lady, would you not show him your dagger?” Therion proposed.

Clearly inquisitive, Primrose pulled it from the sheath tied to her thigh. The barkeep’s eyes widened and he made for the storage room in the back of the tavern.

“You cleaned the blood off,” Primrose observed.

“If I hadn’t, you’d be accused of murder.”

“And what sort of monologue were you making about me just now?”

“Absolute hogwash. But if you hadn’t stabbed Darius?” Therion did not want to think of it. “I only wish I could have as well. Point is, you’ve earned this.”

“You’re a good actor- or an excellent detective.”

“Detec- You’re not saying any of that’s true.” Therion nearly choked on his drink.

“Nearly all of it, excepting that which you said about yourself.”

Excellent. He supposed he could look forward to another butler encounter in Noblecourt- this time about putting the lady of House Azelhart in danger. He supposed it could not be any more insufferable than Heathcote had been.

“I will tell you more as we walk to the Highlands. Thank you for arranging a glass of wine for me- though I must insist you need not have done so.”

“Alright then, next time I won’t.” Therion straightened his back as the barkeep returned with a crystal glass and bottle of aged wine. Primrose accepted it with grace Therion had assumed came only with her profession.

The barkeep inquired timidly about her journey and her past, and Therion kept quiet, pretending to be too deep in his cups to eavesdrop, despite drinking only water. He quickly pieced together from their conversation that the men with crow tattoos had killed her father, and that she had been dancing in Sunshade in the years since his death, waiting for an opportunity to seek revenge. She did not have to ask him to refill her glass; he was eager to hear more, and quite frankly, so was Therion.

The thief cursed his own time limit when Alfyn hurried into the tavern.

“His fingers were tightening around Yusufa’s throat, and-”

“Hey, Prim, Therion! Ready to go?”

Therion sighed deeply and set a handful of leaves on the counter. “I dunno, are you? Did you get enough water for the trip?”

“...Yeah, for both of us. _You_ forgot.”

Primrose giggled, quickly finished off the glass, and followed Therion as he shoved Alfyn outside.

Alfyn glanced back to ensure the door was properly closed before speaking. “Looked like a pretty expensive drink you got there. Whose coin purse did you nab to afford it?”

“No one’s.” Therion smirked. Primrose found it perfectly funny. “You were saying? About Yusufa.”

“Oh, yes. Where was I?”

She continued telling her story for what must have been two hours, based on the position of the sun, but which felt no longer than twenty minutes. With Wellspring far behind them, Therion considered the unshakable feeling of familiarity that came with Alfyn’s desire to heal and Primrose’s sweet tone that made it hard to believe that she had killed two men the previous day.

Darius had once been the one tying torn clothing around Therion’s wounds, calling him _tea leaf_ , proposing he would take down the guard on the left while Therion took the right. The fire in his eyes had been no different than Primrose’s, and the care with which he dabbed the blood off Therion’s cuts had been no different than Alfyn’s.

His hand was around Therion’s neck again, and Therion could not speak until many hours later, when Primrose declared she was not particularly tired and could keep watch as the boys slept.

“I’m not going to be able to sleep either way, and there’s no point in having two of us awake.”

“Good to hear from you again!” Alfyn replied. “But what do you mean, you won’t sleep? Is your shoulder- oh, you forgot to take the painkiller, didn’tcha?”

He hadn't realized it, having attributed the pain to the illusion of Darius. He thought it was a figment of his imagination as well. "Yeah. Even if I take it now, though, I'd still rather be awake."

It wasn't a lack of tiredness: if anything, he had exerted all the energy he had.

He had come too close to trusting them.

He would not make _that_ mistake again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Therion was almost happy for a couple hours but then he realized it and decided that was a stupid idea


	13. Courting Nobles

Alfyn did not even try to hide how concerned he was that Therion had not slept, but Therion ignored him all the way until Cobbleston.

“You’re not lucid enough not to get caught if you go stealin’ something,” the apothecary declared, deciding not even to bother asking his silent companion, “and I don’t want Prim to have to sacrifice her dignity. I can’t be askin’ sick poor folk to pay me, so cross your fingers there’s some well-off people here who need my tonics, ‘cause we don’t have a lot of choice otherwise. S'pose we could just hope for good weather outside tonight, but I'd like to avoid it.”

There was, as it turned out, a sellsword by the name of Berg planning on leaving town who was hindered somewhat by a gash across his arm. Alfyn proposed to treat him, and the man offered them residence for the night as thanks. The exchange took no longer than a minute, giving Therion no time to point out that he hated staying in others’ homes. He kept both arms snugly hanging in his sling, knowing that even if he was physically capable of fighting back against the wounded sellsword, the man was twice his size and would finish him off if he caught even a glance of his bangle.

Therion left as soon as the conversation permitted it, muttering something about apothecary-patient confidentiality as an excuse.

Seconds later, Primrose followed, her eyes demanding an explanation.

“Once Alfyn’s drugged him, I might head back, but try to tell me his obvious sense of justice will do me any good, and I’ll tell you you’re delusional.”

“That’s fair,” Primrose affirmed. “But do try to pretend to be grateful, unless you prefer sleeping on cold stone. I did not like that he bit his lip and refused to look me in the eye, but this is better than any alternative I can think of.”

“Do you think he was attracted to you?”

“Would that make you jealous?” Therion bristled, and Primrose hid her smirk fruitlessly behind a dainty hand. "I have learned over the years how to tell when my body is desired; it is how I was able to turn a profit, after all. You, Therion, fancy me. I can be quite nearly certain of it."

"That's ridiculous. I don't like you: not in appearance, and after _this_ particular conversation, not in personality either."

"After days of silence, wherein you distanced yourself even from Alfyn, you arranged for an expensive drink for me at the tavern. Even from a more sociable man, it would be an invitation, and from you, the contrast was absolute."

"You were wrong about Alfyn earlier. What makes you so sure about me?" Though it was no longer necessary to hide both arms in his sling, Therion found himself doing so nonetheless.

"Alfyn likes me just as well as any of my other customers. He felt uncomfortable because he knew my profession. It's not uncommon."

"You're not listening. I-" He paused. "Never mind. You'd just spout it to Alfyn the moment you thought my back was turned." As he looked away, Primrose began to wonder if his despondence was manifesting itself in his eyes. It took several moments for him to decide what to say, and whether to say it. "I thought you, if anyone, would understand betrayal at the hands of someone you once loved. I don’t desire _anyone_. In fact, I’ll make my feelings towards you explicit: if I had known you were an Azelhart when I met you, I'd have left you alone in the desert. Now I regret I didn't."

Primrose could easily have matched his pace, but permitted him to walk away. Once he was alone, he ran his hand through his hair and contemplated his next move.

She had been right to say sleeping outside was not the best option, but if the alternative was sharing a room with a delusional egoist who thought he loved her, a pure, unquestioning apothecary with a sufficient sadistic streak to break several of his bones, and a self-righteous man whose personality was no more than his sword, sleeping outside was the _only_ option.

Their trek to Cobbleston had taken the great majority of the day, so it was late, and the few who remained outside of their homes seemed eager to return to them. Gradually, those who remained were those who had no home to return to, and Therion pretended he didn't see their sympathetic, knowing glances. His painkiller wearing off, he winced as he laid down behind the blacksmith's workshop, and upon folding his cloak under his head, he managed to convince his body to fall asleep on the cold stone.

_"Found him."_

_"You're sure?"_

_"Matches the description, don't he? White hair, purple scarf and cloak, thin like he ain't eaten in years, fool's bangle on his right wrist, cast on his left."_

_"Alright, bring 'im in. No one else is gonna meet criteria_ that _specific."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Press + for Travel Banter
> 
> Primrose: You like me, don't you?  
> Therion: No.  
> Alfyn: 'Course not, he likes me!  
> Therion: No.  
> Therion: I like apples and stealing things.  
> Alfyn: is that my coin purse


	14. Gaolhouse Rock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Convince me it's not a perfect title.

The floor of the local gaol was made of the same stone as the walkways throughout town, so Therion did not realize where he was for nearly a full minute upon waking up.

"Eat," the guard prompted, gesturing to a few slices of stale bread on the rocky ground and an apple that looked like it might have been ripe two weeks prior. "Might be good for your health that you're here; we can't let prisoners starve, but by the looks of you, you might have on your own."

Failing to believe the food was not poisoned, since it would not be the first time he had been sentenced to death, Therion grimly muttered that he was not hungry.

The guard seemed doubtful, but indifferent. "You've got it better than most, to be honest. Couldn't put handcuffs on you with that bangle and cast of yours. But I doubt anyone'd be jealous of your bangle. It's half the reason you're here."

Excellent. The guard liked to talk just as much as a certain apothecary.

"Remind me to send a thank-you note to Ravus Manor."

The guard laughed. "No need, I'll send one on your behalf."

Therion shivered, giving him reason to wonder where his cloak had gone. It was hanging on the wall opposite his cell, too far away to reach if he put his arm between the bars. He did not bother trying, but the guard followed his gaze.

"If you're thinkin' about those lockpicks you've got in one of your pockets, think again. Not happening."

Sighing deeply, Therion sat with his back against the wall, closing his eyes and coming up with scenarios as to how he had been incarcerated. He had not even stolen anything in Cobbleston. He did not think he had even _spoken_ to anybody. Something about his bangle. More than likely, something about Alfyn and Primrose. Perhaps Primrose had left angrier with him than he judged. She was a good actress, and might have reported him to authorities, knowing that it would not be too severe a reaction, because a skilled thief of two decades would be able to break out.

That… would be more difficult now.

He spent the next hours counting the stones that made up each wall of the prison, pacing in circles, and occasionally glancing out the small, barred window. Not once did he speak to the guard or touch the food, despite not remembering when he had last eaten. Two days prior, he supposed.

He would get out or die trying before starvation took him. At twelve, he had escaped the gaol with Darius the day he was captured. It should be easier now. He was experienced.

He was cold, hungry, aching, and lacking the tools he had become accustomed to, but that was but a minor setback.

Visiting hours came sooner than he expected, and a few determined fiancés and shattered mothers came to see other prisoners. With no family of his own, Therion did not question that no one would visit him, and as he often did, tried to eavesdrop on the conversations of others.

It did not last long. A familiar green vest and scarlet brassiere came into his periphery. He knew he should have expected to see them sooner or later; they had stayed with him at the times when it would have been most convenient to leave. Berg had followed them, a figure more towering, intimidating, and stoic than Therion’s guard.

“Look who it is,” the thief remarked. “The three people whose faces I least wanted to see.”

“Come on,” Alfyn replied. “Can’t imagine you’re enjoying yourself in there. Have you not been eating? Got no appetite?” The immediate concern in his expression was remarkable, even for him. “Come closer, let me see if you’re feverish.”

Alfyn reached his hand through the bars, and Therion instinctively stepped back. Another guard Therion didn’t recognize barked at Alfyn, telling him to keep his hands out of the cell.

“Can I at least give him medicine? I’m an apothecary, and you can see for yourself, he’s hurt pretty bad.”

Therion rolled his eyes, knowing the answer would be no before the guard had the chance to say it. If anything, Alfyn looked more hurt than he did, knowing Therion could not take the painkiller. He apologized, and Therion was about to sarcastically ask if it was his fault, but held his tongue when he realized it might very well have been Alfyn who got him imprisoned.

“I guess if you really don’t want to see me, I can go. But I’ll stay in Cobbleston. I ain’t leaving this place without you.” The ember of hope never left him, Therion observed. Alfyn paced almost dejectedly towards the exit, and Primrose shot Therion a wink before following after him.

What was _that_ supposed to mean?

Seconds before Alfyn left the gaol, Primrose fell to the ground. Therion could barely see her, but everyone, clear as day, could hear Alfyn cry for the guards to come quickly.

“She’s having a seizure. I need you to hold your hands under her head, so she doesn’t hit it on the rocks.”

“You’re the alleged apothecary!”

“I only brought a couple basic tonics! Nothing for this. But I can get it and return in minutes, swear on my life.”

Alfyn ran from the gaol as though his life depended on it, and Berg stepped close to Therion. His voice was almost inaudible even to him.

“She’s faking. Where are your lockpicks?”

“Second pocket from the top, just in front of the left seam.” He tilted his head to the cloak hanging from the wall, and Berg quickly handed him the tools. Therion tucked them into his sling.

“Go. You look suspicious standing here.” Berg nodded once, then left.

Therion did not pay much attention to Primrose’s hazy admission that she did not recall collapsing, the guards’ attempts to convince her not to stand up until the apothecary deemed it alright, and Alfyn’s panicked return. It had become so routine to him to memorize the guards’ schedules that he had not realized he had been doing it. It would be safest to wait until nighttime. Sometimes he was blessed with a guard who tended to fall asleep on the job, and he doubted he would be able to escape from one who didn’t. Then again, he did not know if or when his person might be searched, and it would be too easy to discover the lockpicks.

He did not have the chance to wait until nighttime. Visiting hours persisted long past the point when Alfyn carefully guided Primrose to Berg's home. Therion rested, one knee to his chest, ensuring not to move the lockpicks, and once again failed to anticipate his visitor.

"Get yourself caught, tea leaf?"

He must be asleep or hallucinating. Pain and hunger could do it, and he had only been an illusion before. In an effort to wake himself up and bring himself to his senses, Therion intentionally knocked his shoulder into the stone wall behind him as he stood up. Fire rushed through his chest and arm, but the image did not fade.

"Thought you learned how to fuck off when Primrose put a dagger in your arm," Therion hissed, feeling as though there was one embedded in his own.

"Found meself an apothecary. He stitched me up real nice, gave me some salve to put on the cut. Didn't even ask for anything in return."

_Alfyn_. Therion's jaw clenched.

"He said he was heading up to Noblecourt- said something about dragonstones, and I thought I'd add to me collection. And ye know, I saw him earlier. Jus' last night. He was askin' everyone where _ye_ had headed off to. Seemed the type to ask authorities eventually, so I thought I might see you here."

Darius' grin was unsettling. Though he could not reach Therion, with his back against the other side of the cell, Therion knew better than any how accurate he was with throwing daggers.

"Guard!" Therion barked.

"I ain't done anything, tea leaf." Raising his arms, Darius allowed a guard to check him for weapons. He must have left them with Gareth.

"He was- …harassing me," Therion numbly muttered.

"Someone you stole from?" the guard retorted. "You try to get this gem from 'im or something?"

"Yeah," Darius confirmed before Therion could respond. "Not too long ago. I was just tryin' to bring it back home to Noblecourt, and 'e attacked me on the way there." He gestured to the stitches in his shoulder- absolutely evenly spaced, as Therion had come to expect from Alfyn. "I heard ye caught 'im, so I wanted to see how 'e was doing. Nothing to be threatened by."

The guard rolled his eyes, turning aside, and Darius spit between the bars of his cell as he left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Press + For Travel Banter
> 
> Me: Another sneaky boy comes back and explains parts of the story Therion doesn’t know yet. You could call him... a Darrator  
> Good Friend: or I could call him by his true name: the Ass I Will Kick


	15. Unbending Blade

"I stand corrected." Therion was no more than a silhouette against the night sky, but the layer of sweat across his forehead and slouched posture were obvious even from a distance.

"Oughtn't be standing at all, by the looks of you!" Alfyn tugged him inside Berg's house and locked the door, uncertain whether guards were following him or not.

"I meant… I was wrong earlier. You weren't the worst people who could've come to see me." Therion sat with his back to the door, breathing quietly but heavily with his aching ankle extended.

Alfyn chuckled. "'Thanks' is a couple fewer syllables, ain't it? I'll get you some painkiller."

Therion closed his eyes. It wasn't exactly what he meant, but he supposed he owed them as much. "Alright. …Thanks."

"He can take my bed for now." Berg stood up to close the curtains and light a lantern. "He should be elevating his wounds and resting properly, if I'm not mistaken."

Alfyn helped him stand up, and Therion did not mind the touch as much as he thought he would. So long as he did not think about how the same hands had mended Darius' wound…

"Still got no appetite?" Alfyn asked, sympathetic. "I'd like you to eat something if you can manage. Been a while. Berg made us some local cuisine last night; there might be some left. Primrose couldn't eat half as much as he did, and she was starved!"

She was wrapped in a blanket on the floor, clutching it close to her chest, ignorant to the world around her. Therion wondered if she dreamt about Yusufa in the same way he dreamt of Darius.

"So am I," Therion admitted. "I just don't trust prison food."

Alfyn clearly could not understand why a starving man would deny food of any sort, but nevertheless sorted through Berg's cupboards, looking for something to quickly prepare for Therion. Therion, likewise, could not understand how he could feel so comfortable in a house other than his own that it was not stealing if he took food from Berg's supply.

"So you're a sellsword, right?"

Alfyn seemed immediately cheered by Therion's attempt to make conversation.

"One could say that. But I am guided more by beliefs than by coin."

"And yet you deigned to assist a known criminal. Interesting."

Berg neither flinched nor seemed to take offense. He considered the situation, wondering whether he had done the right thing. "Indeed. But I am indebted to Alfyn, and believe his claim that you are trustworthy."

"Me, trustworthy?"

"You don't owe me anything!"

Two pairs of incredulous eyes stared him down, but the sellsword stood firm in his statement. "Indeed: trustworthy, determined, caring, unwilling to admit any of it, and a bit too confident in your abilities, I believe it was. And Alfyn, you have healed my wound, but I have not upheld my half of the bargain. I swore all three of you could sleep here for a night; Therion slept outside and in gaol."

"Thanks for that, by the way. Great plan, contacting town authorities when you can't find a _thief_." Therion shot Alfyn a cold glare.

"Someone told you," Alfyn chuckled, shame and embarrassment inching into his expression.

Berg considered it for a moment. "I wonder who he spoke to about that. Who in this town would know what happened and want to tell him when we were not present?"

Therion tensed and avoided speaking by chugging the half cup of painkiller Alfyn poured for him. He found they were both curiously examining him even when he put the cup down. It took him nearly a minute to decide to respond.

"There was another thief… you healed his arm back in Wellspring. He's been… following us." Therion looked away. "If we can get to Noblecourt some other way, I'd like to. Preferably with a faster route than walking."

Alfyn scratched the back of his neck. "Well, shucks, if I had known _that_ …"

"You still would have healed him," Therion finished Alfyn's sentence.

"Well, I suppose. Yeah, I probably would have."

"There is no path directly eastward towards Stonegard," Berg explained, his arms crossed. "So by land, it is difficult to reach Goldshore and Grandport. Rippletide, then, would be the best place to seek a sea route to Noblecourt."

"You know the area well," Therion remarked, almost impressed.

Berg looked away. "I suppose so. I've been planning to make my leave, as a matter of fact, so it should not be terribly surprising I have considered various routes."

"Where to?"

"Victor's Hollow, in the Woodlands. I seek information about the whereabouts of a former colleague of mine."

North and west, then. Rippletide would not be a terrible place to catch a boat towards S'warkii, Therion is pretty sure, but Berg would have no reason to head out to the far coast. What reason would a sellsword who always lived in Cobbleston have to know so much about the lay of the land?

"That's great! You can come to Rippletide with us, then!" Alfyn handed Therion a plate of food, which he eyed warily for a moment before deciding he was too hungry to care that he did not recognize what it was. "Told you, local cuisine. They make pies with meat and potatoes here, not just with fruit."

"Do you ask everyone you meet to join us? You know I'm going to be working alone when we get to Noblecourt."

"Sure, but Berg's not headin' to Noblecourt, is he? We'll split up in Rippletide," Alfyn suggested. "You still don't trust him, do you? Even after he helped you get out of that cell?"

"Alfyn, I don't even trust _you_." Therion sighed. "Alright. We leave before dawn- the moment the first of us is awake, they rouse the others." Alfyn seemed about to object, but Therion spoke first. "I'm out of gaol, but I'm not free if town authorities know I'm not there and are looking to get me back. They won't be searching for me out in the Coastlands. Even tonight, though, I should try not to be visible from any of your windows."

"Understood." Arms crossed, Berg closed his eyes and nodded once. "I had meant to speak with a few people before I left, but I shall not sacrifice your freedom, I swear on my honour."

"Your honour as a sellsword." Therion rolled his eyes. "Whatever works."

Berg shifted. "That is… precisely what I wished to speak with them about. My name is not Berg, and though I may be a sellsword now, there was once a time when I was a knight of Hornberg. I came here and lied about who I am to avoid the guilt of failing to protect my liege."

"And since you'll be gone, no one will have a chance to question you about it. Might as well leave with a good impression before they can figure out otherwise."

"So what _is_ your name?" Alfyn asked, interrupting Therion.

"Olberic Eisenberg."

Therion scoffed, crossing his hands behind his head and kicking his left leg over his right. "Yeah, right."

"I cannot force you to believe me." Still, his cross expression reminded Therion of his previous judgement that Berg was not a man to be taken lightly. “You should rest. You intend for us to leave before dawn, and the time ‘til it arrives is quickly depleting.”

He was right, of course, but straightforward as well. “You know, you could just get a decent amount of sleep, talk to those people, and head to Victor’s Hollow alone. You have no reason to travel with a thief, whore, and drug dealer when you can protect yourself.”

“Hey,” Alfyn cut in, petulant.

Berg was silent for several seconds before answering. “There was fear in your eyes when you said another thief was following you. Do you believe he will do you harm?”

Therion rolled onto his shoulder, turning away.

“Then I have _every_ reason to join you. You have my sword.”

Therion chuckled as he drew a well-crafted blade from its sheath, the temptation to snatch it increasing tenfold. “Not yet, I don’t.”


	16. Death Penalty

Alfyn checked over Primrose’s and Olberic’s wounds before they left the next morning. As they passed the boundaries of town, he jokingly asked Primrose to give him some kind of warning if she thought she was going to have another seizure.

“I know you needed some kind of distraction, but you really had me scared,” he admitted.

“You couldn’t feign horror if it saved the life of your patient,” Primrose replied. "Your fear needed to be real."

It must have been her plan, Therion pieced together. Olberic would not have suggested it on his own. It made him feel almost guilty that he initially thought it was her fault he was imprisoned.

“If Alfyn gets a heart attack from your antics, who’s going to help _him_?” Therion questioned.

Primrose exaggerated a gasp. “You’re right. I should give Olberic a heart attack next time instead.”

"Try not to give anyone a heart attack!" Alfyn insisted. "I do my best, but I can't save everyone. Even the best apothecary couldn't, and I ain't the best."

The atmosphere darkened with his words, and as Alfyn fidgeted with the strap on his satchel, Therion could not help but wonder how many people had died under his care. He recalled wondering whether the ashes in his coin purse were those of his former patients. Now he wondered when his doubt in the apothecary had vanished.

"It is nothing to blame yourself for," Olberic consoled Alfyn. "I cannot protect everyone. We are men, not gods."

Alfyn nodded. "It's the worst thing, havin' to tell someone you couldn't help, though. Or havin' to choose who to save, if you don't have the means to help everyone…"

Olberic rested a hand on Alfyn's shoulder, understanding. Therion glanced at Primrose to confirm that she was as unfamiliar with the scenario as he was. Her eyes were down and her lips were sealed in contemplation. At least he wasn't the only one.

"Then don't waste them on thieves."

Therion wasn't sure whether he had said it aloud until Alfyn and Olberic stopped and turned to face him.

"How could you say somethin' like that?" Alfyn had long passed the point of mere depressive recollection, and his voice broke as he said it. Therion stepped back defensively. "I've been doin' all I can to fix the injuries you never saw an apothecary for, even when you run off and break 'em worse! I'm tryin' to help you, Therion, and you're tryin' to tell me it's not worth it?"

"What use is my life to you?"

"I don't _care_ whether it's useful to me or not! Are you tryin' to tell me you don't care about your own life?"

Therion did not reply. For a moment, he was almost sure Olberic shot him a sympathetic glance.

"Alfyn," the soldier calmly spoke. "It is possible he refers to the thief whose shoulder you healed in Wellspring."

And it was true, to a degree. Therion really hadn't wanted Darius to recover from the wound. He exhaled slowly. "Yeah," he numbly confirmed. "That's it."

And Alfyn very clearly did not believe him, but hated the topic just as much as Therion did, and let it pass.


	17. Treatment

They crossed paths with another traveler that evening, and Olberic’s expression lit up when he saw her. She ran over to them with haste Therion did not expect given the massive pack she was carrying. Therion's hand hovered under his cloak, ready to draw his dagger if it proved necessary.

“Mr. Eisenberg! It’s been a long time!” She caught Olberic in a hug. Therion assumed he would be adverse to them, but either he was wrong or this girl was the exception. “Who are these people?”

“Travelers who require the protection of my sword, just as you once did. Their names are Primrose, Alfyn, and Therion. Are you coming home to Rippletide?”

“Yeah! I just made a delivery to Stonegard!”

“Stonegard, alone? You’re growing up faster than I thought!” He chuckled and ruffled her bangs, and she quickly smoothed them out, wanting to look nice for her new company. “This is Tressa. Her father served beside me in the Battle of Hornberg. He asked me to accompany her in her travels for trade several years ago. She will make a great merchant when she is older, I expect.”

“I _am_ a great merchant!”

“Of course you are; my mistake.”

With no input whatsoever from Therion, Primrose, or Alfyn, the girl joined them for the walk to Rippletide. Therion was not convinced she could be trusted. Primrose seemed to regard her immediately as innocent and precious. Alfyn appeared to be studying her like a tome of medicinal herbs.

“Your shoulders hurt, don’t they? That bag’s gotta be heavy,” the apothecary observed.

“I guess. I’m used to it.” Before she even finished the sentence, Olberic gestured for her to pass him the pack.

“Not yet. Your wound’s not healed over. I can carry it,” he offered. Tressa accepted, eager to stretch her back.

“Wound? What happened to Mr. Eisenberg?”

Apparently, shortly before they arrived in Cobbleston, a group of brigands had threatened the town. Olberic ensured they did not get any further than harsh words and sharpened swords. At one point, however, two approached him at once, and as he fended one off, the other slashed his arm. Olberic dispatched him before he could do any further damage, and duelled the leader minutes later.

“You kept fighting?” Tressa marveled.

“Certainly; I did not feel the pain until I returned to town. If anything, Alfyn’s antiseptic stung more than the blade.”

“Sometimes it does, yeah, but you hardly seemed to notice that I put it on!” Alfyn laughed.

He carried Tressa’s bag for the remainder of the day, and if her expression was any indication, the salve he massaged into her shoulders that night put her in a state of absolute bliss.

"You sure know how to find the best adventurers to travel with," she told Olberic. Therion doubted that was the case.

He expected Alfyn would withhold the painkiller once again because of their prior conversation. He supposed he deserved it, and after spending a day in gaol, had started to convince himself he was numb to the pain anyway. He did not speak a word about it, but as though reading his mind, Alfyn poured him a dose of tonic as soon as he was finished with Tressa.

"I'm sorry about earlier," Alfyn quietly apologized. Therion glanced at him sideways, accepting the painkiller with unease. What did _Alfyn_ have to be sorry for? "Are you still hurting?"

"People with three broken bones generally do." He tossed back the tonic, deciding he didn't care whether Alfyn had added anything to it. If he was going to try to get rid of Therion, Alfyn was the type to make sure it was quick and painless.

"Five, but that ain't the point. Something's bothering you. I wasn't thinkin' earlier, but I should'a noticed. There's gotta be a reason you don't think I should be treating you. So… are you still hurting in here?" He pointed to his own heart. Therion suspected he intended to point at his, but correctly anticipated that Therion would push his hand away.

"Darius didn't break my ribs."

"Darius?"

Therion cursed under his breath.

"You said it was a fall off a cliff. In good detail, actually, which helped me find the fractures. You didn't say…" Alfyn trailed off. "Where are you goin'?"

"The nearest tavern."

"Rippletide's a day away. But I do carry brandy with me, in case-"

"Prescribe me all of it."

"No. Sit down."

Logically, there was nothing forcing him to comply. Tressa was distracted, writing an entry in her diary, and Primrose and Olberic were passive-aggressively trying to determine how their dinner ought to be cooked. Therion doubted any of them had heard their conversation, despite being within hearing distance. 

He sat down nevertheless.

"This Darius fella… he pushed you off that cliff, didn't he? Ought'a thank the gods none of your ribs broke, or worse." Therion's lack of response indicated he was correct. "Is he the one I healed while you were at the black market?"

"He shoved me to the ground and crushed my broken wrist underneath me. The wound you healed was where Primrose stabbed him."

"Stabbed who?" she joined in, barely listening until she heard her name. Olberic shifted away from her.

Therion shook his head. "You trust thieves too easily. Darius isn't an exception to the rule, and neither am I.”

"You're not gonna hurt me." Alfyn's tone was relaxed and confident. "I ain't told you how to make that painkiller, so you figured out long ago it's nice havin' me around. Don't think you're gonna hurt Prim, Olberic, or Tressa either, 'cause you know the rest of us would leave you if you did, and in your state, you know it it’s not safe out here alone. Ain't too hard to figure out that you can be trusted, even if we assume you're emotionless and cunning, which you ain't. So I don't know why you're so intent on distrusting us."

So perhaps the apothecary had put some thought into whether he should really be travelling with a thief.

“If having to crawl from the bottom of a canyon with three- no, _five_ broken bones isn’t a good enough reason, I doubt anything will be.”

Alfyn sighed, seeing no hope in trying to convince him otherwise. “And he’s following us?”

“You told him there’s a dragonstone in Noblecourt, so he’s trying to get to it before I can make it there.”

“Definitely sounds like following to me.”

Alfyn suggested he and Olberic take watch that night. Olberic was the most suited to handling Darius one-on-one, if he approached, and Alfyn knew his appearance and would be recognized as the apothecary who healed him. No one objected.

“Tressa, you got any blankets in that bag of yours? Ain’t too cold, but it’d be good to keep Prim’s and Therion’s faces hidden.”

"You got it!"

As he laid back-to-back with Primrose, gradually falling asleep, he wondered whether feeling safe asleep next to her with Alfyn and Olberic watching over them necessarily entailed trusting them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Press + For Travel Banter
> 
> Primrose: _Spicier._  
>  Olberic: No.  
> Primrose: You call yourself a knight of Hornberg, and you can't handle a little curry powder?  
> Olberic: Now, just wait one second-  
> Therion: ...was where Primrose stabbed him.  
> Primrose: Stabbed who? Darius? Gareth's lackeys? Helgeni-  
> Olberic: okay you win


	18. Under The Boardwalk

The air began to smell salty before Rippletide was visible on the horizon, and despite the weight of her pack, it put a spring in Tressa's step.

"Almost home!" she breathed. "Dad is gonna be so excited to see you again, Olberic! I wish you hadn't stayed so long in Cobbleston. I mean, what's so great about rocks anyway?"

"You appear to be perfectly happy walking across them," Olberic replied. Tressa stuck her tongue out and paced a few steps off the path to walk on the grass. "More seriously, I preferred to be in a town where I was not known."

"So you were purposefully avoiding us," Tressa accused. Olberic looked away, silent. Therion caught his gaze for a moment, understanding.

"I swear on my honour that is not the case."

Therion wondered how honourable he truly still was, having failed his king and freed a criminal. "…Your honour as a sellsword?"

"As whatever you consider me," Olberic affirmed.

He was welcomed into Tressa's home nevertheless, just as she claimed. As though they were brothers, her father lit up upon seeing Olberic, and left his position behind the counter to embrace him. "The Unbending Blade himself," he marveled, "I thought you'd died."

"Death outside of battle suits me not," he replied. "And I have learned living alone in the Highlands might not either."

"Then come in! Stay as long as you need to." Olberic bowed his head in thanks and entered. "Are these your friends?"

"No," Therion cut in.

"'Course we are," Alfyn interrupted. "I'm Alfyn; I sewed up Olberic's shoulder a couple'a days ago. This is Primrose, noble daughter of House Azelhart turned dancer. And Theri…" He looked back to see no trace of the thief. "Therion. Who, seems to me, hates bein' social."

“I’ll go find him before he decides to sleep outside again,” Primrose volunteered.

“Again?” muttered Tressa’s father, nothing short of bewildered.

The sun was setting over the horizon, and the water glowed orange. Water crashed against the rocks under the boardwalk, gulls screeched amongst themselves, and bare feet thudded against the wood as children chased one another. Therion sat on the edge, his cast hanging just high enough not to be hit by the waves, drinking straight from a bottle of wine.

Primrose sat down beside him. “You wouldn’t rather use a glass?”

Therion scoffed. “You can’t leave me alone, can you? I had more privacy in gaol,” he bluntly replied.

"I will leave you be when I am convinced you will eat a full meal and rest your injuries in a real bed." Primrose did not move a muscle, save those necessary for her to cross her arms. "Bit of a costly drink you've found yourself."

He took another swig, then exhaled, exasperated. "They all cost the same to me."

"True," she agreed. "So Alfyn's permitted you to drink while taking his painkiller?"

"I shouldn't need permission from any of you to do anything."

Before he could raise the bottle to his lips again, Primrose snatched it from his hand and rolled gracefully over her knee onto her feet. "You do, if you haven't even the sense to find out whether or not you're poisoning yourself."

Not terribly crushed with the loss of his drink, Therion shrugged to let her know how little he was listening, and continued to gaze across the horizon. Primrose squinted in the same direction, shading her eyes from the flash of sunlight across the water, trying to figure out what he was looking for.

"This is a port city," Therion muttered. "That must be a merchant's ship on the horizon. I should be able to steal some of their wares while they venture into town."

"You don't have to rob everyone, you know. If you pretend to be kind, like you did in Wellspring, we might convince them to take us straight to Noblecourt." Primrose considered it for a moment. "I wonder if Tressa has some kind of boat. She makes deliveries for her parents' shop, doesn't she?"

"Why don't you go ask her?" His tone indicated it was less of a suggestion than it was an order. Primrose smiled and stayed put.

When it docked, Therion realized almost immediately that it was not a trade ship, and a sly smirk crossed his face. His cast dragged against the dock as he stood up with none of Primrose's grace, but he hid the unevenness well enough as he ducked behind an empty barrel. A group of pirates jumped down from the deck, their landings echoing under the boardwalk. 

Merchants, Therion knew, sold reasonable, useful commodities. Cloth, perhaps, or spices, or jewelry. Pirates would have already done his job for him; they would actively seek out valuables from across the ocean and ever-so-conveniently leave them on their ship. Therion wondered what he had done for Aeber to bless him so.

“Oi, mates! Look at _her_. Ain’t she a beauty!”

It took him a few seconds to realize they were referring to Primrose.

So perhaps he had judged the situation a bit too quickly.

Most of the pirates headed into town, but several approached Primrose, prompting her to draw the dagger bearing her last name. One whistled as Therion carefully crept around the barrel, staying out of sight. "She thinks she can put up a fight!"

"I've slain far more disgusting men than you," she replied.

"Ha! Four at once? We're capturin' the cap'ns a madwoman, is that it?"

"Shut yer trap, words ain't gonna hold 'er hostage."

She must have sliced her dagger at one of them, as Therion heard a cry of pain. Even if it was a fatal strike, though, three pairs of swords would restrain her easily. Therion peered from the side of the barrel, noticing first that her strike had not been lethal, then that the other three had her surrounded. He pulled his own dagger from its sheath as quietly as possible and threw it, piercing between the shoulderblades of the pirate nearest him. He crumpled forward and the two left standing noticed him immediately.

"Get 'im."

One held Primrose's hands behind her back, giving the other the opportunity to pursue Therion with both swords drawn. Cornered at the edge of the dock and knowing his reach was shorter than the pirate's, Therion jumped backward into the water. He had given Primrose the opportunity to escape, since, knowing her past, she was fully capable of escaping the grip of _one_ unsavory man. And he was a capable swimmer, so the waters below were no death trap.

Usually.

Treading water with one arm and one leg, Therion wrestled his left arm out from the sling in an attempt to control his movement. The end of his scarf caught the chain of his bangle in the process, and he gasped for air just as a wave crashed over his head. His bangs covered his eyes, which stung in the salt water, so he could not tell how far he had sunk beneath the surface.

If he could only grab one of the supports of the boardwalk!

He continued paddling upwards, kicking both legs with no regard for the weight of the cast. The moment he reached the surface, he gasped for air, causing him to choke on the water he'd already inhaled. He blindly grabbed a wooden support, holding on for dear life with his good arm, coughing for at least another minute before he could- shakily- breathe again.

He couldn't hear anyone above him.

Had Primrose escaped, or had they managed to capture her?

Floating on his back, he managed to reach the shore, and once he rubbed the salt from his eyes, he made his way back to Tressa's abode. He supposed he would find out.


	19. Tradewinds

Therion was decidedly good at breaking and entering without being caught, even when the inhabitants of the house he decided to enter were asleep therein. It was much easier than usual this time, as Tressa's family had left the door unlocked. Presumably they were expecting Primrose to return with Therion.

She hadn't returned at all.

Knowing he would barely stand a chance against even a single attacker alone, he decided he ought to rouse Olberic and take him up on his offer to protect him. He paused upon coming closer. The warrior had left his gloves, vest, boots, and sheath neatly folded next to him, but the obnoxiously massive sword was nowhere to be found. Strange, and it meant he would be fairly useless against the bandits, who, Therion noted, carried twice as many swords as the warrior usually did.

Alfyn had the chemicals, but not the confidence to help him. It would likely be most effective to lace his short sword with poison from his satchel rather than waking him. He regretted for a moment sticking his dagger in the pirate's back- he lacked one of his weapons now, and his effort had not even allowed Primrose to escape. The apothecary shifted when Therion put the vial of poison back in his satchel, but did not wake.

That left… Tressa. Therion grimaced. There was a harpoon mounted on the wall behind her, but Therion had the sinking feeling she had never even pierced a fish with it. He noticed a tome, however, open on the nightstand beside her.

She was a kid. What was she doing, trying to learn magic?

He jostled her shoulder.

"Mmnh?" It wasn't an intelligible question, and she was likely not lucid enough to even know who woke her, but Therion answered nonetheless.

"Can you- you know, cast a spell strong enough to ruin someone's day?"

"Yeah? What time's it?"

"Come with me." He pulled the harpoon off its hook, snapped the tome closed, and led her outside. "Do you need the book to cast?"

"I'm trying to memorize them, but I still usually read them from the pages," she sleepily admitted. "You're sopping wet. Give me my book before you ruin it."

He handed the tome to her. "Show me a spell."

She quickly turned to a section on wind magic, and began to recite one.

"Shut up. I said show; I don't want to hear you."

She furrowed her eyebrows, trying simultaneously to concentrate and follow his instructions, and conjured a dust devil several meters away.

"That'll do. Come on." He gestured for her to follow him.

She hesitated. "Where to? I'm in my nightdress and I didn't see my backpack where I left it. And… Alfyn says you like going to the tavern, but I'm not supposed to."

"I wouldn't wake you to do magic in a _tavern_ ," Therion scoffed. Though she looked away, it seemed she didn't think it was beyond him. "No. I need you to sweep a group of pirates off their feet with a small tornado, or pin them against a wall with a strong wind, or whatever else you think you can conjure with that tome. You're going to give me an opening so I can slit their throats before they do something worse to Primrose."

"Something worse?"

"You're seriously too young to understand? You know what dancers are used for when they're off the stage?"

She swallowed. "You're right. Where is she? Let's go." Despite her words, though, she hesitated. "But shouldn't Olberic and Alfyn come with us?"

"This is a _stealth_ mission," he slowly spelled out.

"Heh. So then, maybe I should leave you here too!"

Therion didn't find it particularly funny. "Are you going to gouge their eyes out or am I?"

Her cheeriness dissipated in an instant. "You are…"

"Right. Now shut up, follow me, and cast as quietly as possible when I give you the word."

Tressa knew of a cave not far from town, and Therion thought he had noticed a couple pirates fleetingly head in the same direction. Her spells blew away the few Birdians who seemed to believe they were intruding on their territory, and they reached the entrance of the caves quickly enough. True enough, one member of the pirating crew was guarding the entrance.

"Go convince him to let us through," Therion quietly ordered, barely out of view of the shipmate.

"You're crazy."

"You're stalling." He gave her a light push towards the cave. In plain sight, she had little choice but to follow his directions.

"Hey!" she cheerily greeted the guard. "Don't mean to interrupt, you seem busy… I'd like to go in, please."

Gods, she was oblivious.

"Nah," the guard replied. "Best run home, girl. You'll regret it if you try to get past me. Not fer long, though," he laughed. "You'd be dead faster than ye think."

"Sorry!" she laughed. "I didn't realize- hah, seems like serious business… Okay, I'll leave you alone!" Grateful that she had the chance to leave despite Therion pushing her forward, she quickly turned tail to run…

And stopped, when she heard the guard's head hit the ground.

"Where are you going?" Therion dryly asked, pulling his sword from the pirate's back.

"When did you-"

"You were wrong when you said I wasn't stealthy enough."

Tressa didn't want to fathom his capabilities without his bones broken. "Okay! Okay. But this is about Primrose!" she insisted. "I don't care whether you're sneaky or not if she's still in danger." She stepped around the shipmate's body as though she was afraid it would spring to life. "Are you… going to kill _all_ of them?"

Therion followed her unflinchingly into the cave. "You got a better idea?"

"Well- if they haven't touched Primrose, homicide's not a great answer to kidnapping, is it? Why don't I just hold 'em off with a blast of wind while you free her, and everyone can walk away alive? I mean, we can tie their hands back if we need to, but…"

She kind of had a point, didn't she?

"Fine. Permission to kill any who did harm her?"

"You got it!"

The pirates had situated themselves deeper in the cavern. They weren't particularly quiet, so Therion had no trouble whatsoever locating them. Several were drinking from mugs they dipped into a barrel of wine, two seemed to be arguing about who was the true captain of their ship, a few were sorting through townspeople's stolen possessions, and Primrose sat amongst them, a gag in her mouth and her hands and ankles tied. Therion noticed several of them sitting in the shadows, stitching up each other's wounds, and felt momentarily satisfied.

"Run up to Primrose so she's in the epicenter of your storm before you cast. I'll join you and cut her free. Ready?" Therion instructed, barely audible.

Tressa nodded, taking a moment to turn to the correct page. She started the incantation before dashing over, kneeling beside Primrose as she spoke the last line. The dust devil she cast before was nothing in comparison to this veritable hurricane, and Therion found he could not even fight the wind to approach Primrose until it died down. He sliced her bindings off within seconds and was ready to run alongside them both out of the cave, but Tressa stood firm.

"You! You're the captain, right?" She pointed at the fatter of the two who had been arguing over it. He nodded.

"He ain't, I am!" the thinner protested, stepping forward. With a flick of her wrist, Tressa blew him back against the wall of the cave.

"I'll curse both of you if you don't order your men to carry the goods you stole back to town to return them!" As if to prove her point, she turned to the back pages of the tome. "I'll summon Bifelgan to strike you down for your thievery unless you listen!"

Therion nervously glanced at Primrose, who said nothing in return.

The fatter of the two captains laughed. "As if a kid like you can summon the gods!" His mirth vanished when Tressa stepped forward, grinning.

"How much you wanna bet on that?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Press + For Travel Banter
> 
> Therion: So Plan A is murder.  
> Tressa: ...what's Plan B?  
> Therion: Slaughter.  
> Tressa: Is there a plan where we don't kill people?  
> Therion: Plan Z.  
> Therion: We die in Plan Z.


	20. Unspoken

Tressa led the others back to town, skipping more than walking, and Therion could almost hear her humming some local sea shanty. He lagged behind the pirates, keeping a sharp eye and a sharper sword on their backs to ensure none dared abandon ship. He had needed to carry almost none of their bounty. The shipmates were more than eager to carry it back themselves, save for Tressa's pack and Olberic's sword, which their new leader reclaimed.

Primrose stayed alongside Therion, preferring to be able to see them clearly. She was quiet as they walked back to town, speaking only once to answer Therion's single question: whether they had touched her against her will. "Only to bind me and pull me to their lair," she numbly replied, and Therion was satisfied enough not to ask anything else.

She was as baffled as he was when Tressa helped each of them jump back on board their ship, bidding them safe travels.

"Tressa," Therion choked on the word, unsure whether to laugh at her naivety, scream at her idiocy, or ignore her altogether.

She seemed to understand. "Prim said they didn't touch her, and they brought everything back. They're leaving, so they can't really do any more harm. What difference does it make, whether I say goodbye or not?"

He couldn't think of a good answer- or, more accurately, his answer was perfectly good, but there was no way to explain it to a pathetic girl who'd never faced real trauma.

"Let's go home. I'm tired, you need to dry off, and I'll bet you're both hungry," she yawned, looking back once more at the ship crossing over the horizon. "Or… actually, I should keep watch over this. I don't know who it all belongs to, but I have to make sure it ends up back in the proper hands!"

"Certainly," Primrose agreed, her voice monotonous and dreary like Therion had never heard it before. "But I won't be able to sleep. I may as well be the one to stay here."

"Not happening." Therion's reply was curt at best. "Tressa knows what she's doing. C'mon."

He didn't touch Primrose- did not even gesture for her to follow him- but walked, without looking back, towards Tressa's house. As he expected, she followed him.

She did not point out that he seemed perfectly worried about her, which he was, and which he silently appreciated. Her thoughts were often, much like her skin, thinly veiled, but she knew what did not need to be made explicit.

“I appreciate what you did,” she finally spoke, halfway to Tressa’s house. “I was afraid you drowned, of course, but it was noble of you.”

Therion didn’t particularly _want_ to be noble.

She didn’t take his lack of response as an invitation to continue, however, or perhaps had nothing else to say. The crash of waves filled their silence, and it was not long until they stepped inside.

Therion helped himself to a towel, and was disappointed and annoyed upon finding that his bandages had loosened. The cast was soaked through, and the additional weight shifted his balance more than he liked to admit. He would have to ask Alfyn to fix it, lest he be forced to admit that Tressa was right. No decent thief would knowingly leave wet footprints behind if he could help it.

As though reading his mind, Primrose gently woke the apothecary.

It was not for his sake, it seemed. She spoke softly enough to him that Therion could not hear her, and soon gave up on the idea in favour of rummaging through Tressa's cupboards for food. Alfyn mixed together a salve as Therion settled on an apple that would be easy enough to eat with one hand. Alfyn massaged the herbs into Primrose's ankle as Therion laid his cloak and scarf by the fire to dry. Alfyn wrapped her ankle in a much lighter bandage than he had Therion's, and Therion was not sure what he felt, exactly, but he didn't like it.

So, fine. She hadn't told him she sprained her ankle- more than likely, when the pirates dragged her through the cave to their hideout- and, all things considered, that was logical. He was a thief, he would have brushed it off, he was far less qualified than Alfyn to help her, and he would not have spoken up either, in her situation.

He would have slowed down, though.

Even if she considered him entirely uncaring, she must have known he was hardly up for running.

He decided he did not want to speak to Alfyn either, actually, and laid down in Tressa's unoccupied bed. Her blanket was green, he noticed, like Alfyn's vest. Like…

_You ought ter have noticed._

_Honestly, Therion._

_Ye have to be able to see things afore they kill ye._

_A tea leaf blind to 'is surroundings is a dead tea leaf._

_You're dead to me, Therion._

"Therion?"

He jerked upright. He hadn't even fallen asleep yet, but the voice was nightmarish nonetheless. Alfyn had finished with Primrose, and seemed to be expecting an answer.

"What are you givin' me that look for? I got painkiller for you, and I'll rewrap your casts, since Prim tells me you went for a bit of a swim."

_Stole some real bandages for ye, tea leaf. C'mere._

Therion closed his eyes. "Fuck off."

He did not receive a response for a while. To a degree, he began to hope that it had not slipped his tongue, and that there was nothing to respond to. The thought shattered when he heard glass bottles clink together as Alfyn put them back in his satchel, then the sound of footsteps crossing in front of him, towards the door.

"Gladly."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Press + For The Voices Haunting Therion
> 
> Darius: If you got PTSD I feel bad for you son  
> Darius: I got 99 problems but a ditch ain't one


	21. Tetrapath Seafarer

Early the next morning, after hours of doubt, pain, regret, hatred, and the voice telling him he was right to feel that way, Therion decided it was not worth continuing to try to sleep, and went outside. Primrose noticed the moment he stood up; evidently, she was not lying when she said she would not be able to sleep. Despite this, though, she left him alone.

He found Tressa asleep next to the pile of valuables she convinced the pirates to return, and had half a mind to look through it for coin. He supposed Alfyn had convinced her he would look after it, but he was asleep as well, the young merchant curled atop his chest like a pillow.

She awoke the moment he began rifling through the pile. Perhaps she was more alert than he gave her credit for.

"Thief!" she immediately accused. "Oh, Therion, it's you. Sorry, I…" She paused halfway through her apology. Her eyes narrowed. "Wait a minute. That bangle…"

Therion suddenly felt better about not noticing Primrose's sprain. "You really didn't figure it out? You accompanied me on a heist last night," he answered dumbly, pocketing an embroidered coin purse.

"Put that back!" She leapt to life, tugging the edge of his cloak. "You don't understand how hard people have to work to make an honest living! You can't just take what little they managed to make for themselves!" With the power of a determined squirrel wielding a feather, she threw pathetic punches at his arm.

Had she been on his right side, he would have barely felt it.

"It was a heist to _return_ everything they stole, damn it! I can't believe I trusted you! I can't believe _Olberic_ trusted you!"

"Get off me! It was a heist to reclaim Primrose. You complicated the matter." He shoved her off, the hilt of his sword edging into her gut. She stepped back.

His eyes dawned with the recollection of coating his blade with poison, and slowly, quietly sheathed it.

Alfyn would probably have known what to do if it cut her, he consoled himself. The apothecary had stirred with her accusations, and was now fully awake.

“Alfyn,” Tressa decreed, “I’ll take you and Primrose to Goldshore with me, like I toldja last night, but I’m not letting Therion on my boat.”

“You have a boat,” Therion repeated incredulously.

“Yeah, I do!” Her anger was immediately replaced with delight, until she remembered she was arguing with him. “Can’t be a good merchant in a port town without one. I’m heading to Goldshore with another delivery- it’s easier sailing there than walking. Alfyn said he wanted me to take him to Noblecourt on my way back here.”

“Hate to break it to ya,” the apothecary mumbled, brushing his hair through his hand, “but Therion’s the whole reason we’re goin’ to Noblecourt in the first place.”

“Why, so he can steal from the wealthy families living there?”

“Yeah,” Therion replied before Alfyn could say a word. “The Ravuses aren’t gonna take this damned bangle off of me until I find and return a set of dragonstones to them.” Therion paused, turned away, waved a dismissive hand, smiled under his scarf. “It just seems easiest to steal them. I’m no master merchant, and couldn’t haggle a discount large enough for my small budget if my life depended on it. It doesn't, of course, but if I'm to return the stones to their true owner, I'll have to retrieve them somehow. But if you’re really unable to take me with you…”

Even without looking back, he could tell Tressa could hardly contain her excitement. Alfyn chuckled.

“I changed my mind!” Tressa declared. “Alright, landlubbers! Pack up, the S.S. Colzione departs shortly!”

It was not as shortly as he would have liked. Tressa was determined to ensure every last valuable was accounted for, and her goodbyes to her parents rivalled even Alfyn’s to Zeph. If anything, she had no reason to think any of the others would make her wait.

Only Alfyn had any belongings worth packing into his satchel, which was fortunate because Tressa’s cargo took nearly all the room on the small boat. Alfyn perched atop one of the many boxes, and Primrose sat near the handrail and rested her ankle on it. Therion would have considered it exceedingly uncomfortable, but perhaps it was not so different from her typical stretches. Tressa, meanwhile, expertly untied and tied ropes about the boat, lowering the sail and preparing to depart.

“Goodbye, Olberic!” She waved as they drifted away from the dock, and he returned the gesture. “Have a safe trip to Victor’s Hollow!”

“The same to you; sail safely! Oh, the rope on your left-”

It slipped from her hand, and she was forced to stop waving to catch it. Therion laughed at her expense.

“Shut up! I’ll make you walk the plank!”

“You don’t have a plank.”

“I have a railing to throw you over!” she replied. “I may have let you aboard, but I _am_ still upset with you, you know.”

Therion rolled his eyes. "You'll have to get used to my thievery sooner or later."

"Fine! Doesn't change the fact that you treated Alfyn like _shit_!"

Alfyn would not even look towards them, opting to watch Rippletide curl over the horizon. Primrose, likewise, had scarcely spoken since her kidnapping.

What could he say? That it wasn't intentional? That he was sorry? He would not be taken seriously either way. He had already failed to improve Primrose's state of mind despite making a legitimate effort to encourage her to rest, avoiding prying into the situation she was likely trying not to think about.

"Alfyn."

"I'm listenin'."

"Is your offer about painkiller and a dry cast still valid?"

There was no point in formalities, because they had long since abandoned the notion that he was capable of sincerity. They knew well that he was self-absorbed and wanting, however, and such a request could not be questioned. And Alfyn, well, gods knew he loved nothing more than to help those he cared about.

Or those he did not care about, Therion considered as the apothecary glanced down at him. It made little difference.

"Yeah. I can give you the tonic now, but I'd prefer to look at your ankle when we get to dry land. The waves might shift it unexpectedly, and even if all goes well, you'd have to keep it raised like Prim's got it, since the floor of the boat's a bit wet. Here, I think I've got a cup in here for your painkiller…"

The warmth in Alfyn's tone had returned, and his eyes brightened when he noticed the small smile grace Therion's cheeks for no longer than a moment. He was forgiven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spot the Zelda reference!


	22. Tea Leaves

Upon arriving in Goldshore, while Primrose helped Tressa carry her wares to the town square to be sold, Alfyn and Therion went immediately to the inn to book a room. Therion could tell the skin under his cast was shriveling and wrinkling, and despite knowing Alfyn would have him keep it still until he was ready for dry bandages, he could hardly stand to keep it on any longer.

There were not many townsfolk outside despite the agreeable weather, and those who were were crowded around a dark-haired woman who appeared to be selling something. It was almost an impromptu auction for her limited supplies, but Therion tugged Alfyn's hand away from her, quelling his curiosity.

"This is a _port town_. Merchants travel here to sell goods. Gods, you'd think Tressa _hadn't_ been raving about the glassware and pillows she was selling for hours on end, based on your ogling…"

"Ha, you'd think I _wasn't_ travellin' with a master thief, based on the way you want to avoid a merchant's clearly desirable wares like the plague."

Therion scoffed. "Clever. But I'm more interested in your abilities than hers."

"You flatterer!" Alfyn laughed.

They were met with scrutiny at the inn, despite Therion's certainty that his bangle was not visible under his cloak. To save face, he slipped payment for the room into Alfyn's pocket, out of sight of the innkeeper's watchful eye.

"You'd be better off even camping outside of town," the innkeeper warned, counting the leaves Alfyn passed him. "There's somethin' awful spreading 'round here. But if you're certain, it's room 19, to your left. Four beds, you said?" He slid a key across the desk.

"That's right," Alfyn replied. "Now, what's this about an epidemic?"

Therion scoffed, taking the key and walking to the room alone.

"I'll be right there!" the apothecary called after him.

Therion claimed the bed closest to the door, reasoning that it would have the easiest escape route unless he wanted to jump from the window. He had torn the bandages off his ankle with the aid of his dagger and was halfway through the cast on his wrist when Alfyn entered. "I would'a helped you," he pointed out, kneeling before Therion. "Looks like you should give it some air, huh?"

Therion hummed, merely acknowledging that he heard Alfyn, and peeled off another layer of bandage.

"In the meantime, I'm gonna make some tea. There are a couple roots and extracts Zeph and I used to strengthen our immunity, and from the sounds of it, I'll be helpin' more than a few fever patients while we're here! 'Course, you, Primrose, and Tressa will be welcome to it." The fireplace was already stocked with freshly-cut wood. Alfyn lit it and set water to boil while Therion laid back, resting his ankle on a pillow, and started reading.

"Enjoying my Apothecary's Guide To Advanced Concoctions? Never mind that I didn't see you snatch it, I didn't even know whether you'd learned to read or not."

_I taught ye, tea leaf. Don't ye forget it._

"Maybe I just wanted to know how to make that painkiller so I can quit depending on you," Therion snapped.

"That's in Beginner's Tonics. Practically have that book memorized. So good luck tryin' to figure it out!" Alfyn grinned.

Therion scowled and flipped to a page halfway through the tome. "What's …Gaborra evergreen?"

"A small, tropical, coniferous tree that bears orange flowers. We use the flowers and the bark for their antipyretic properties. I don't have any with me. Why do you ask?"

"I'm making sure you're really qualified. How do you make… rousing balm?"

"Crush a purifying seed, remove the hard white part inside, grind it into a fine powder with a mortar and pestle. Mix it with a tablespoon of coconut oil, two shredded leaves from a herb of awakening, and a teaspoon of finely chopped sleepweed."

Therion stared. "That was almost verbatim."

"Zeph sometimes sleeps in when he's supposed to head off healin' people."

"Is it not easier to just- _make a loud noise_?"

Alfyn laughed, and even Therion could not help but smirk. He did not fail to notice Alfyn's lack of an answer.

"Satisfied? I can probably fix up your casts now." He passed Therion a dose of painkiller and translucent red tea, freshly brewed over the fire.

_Tea leaf._

Therion clenched his teeth even before drinking the bitter painkiller. He put the mug aside, glaring at the floating herbs therein. "It's… too hot," he mumbled as an excuse.

Alfyn shrugged, sitting beside him on the bed to check his ankle, and did not notice that Therion abandoned it there permanently.

It did not take too long to rewrap his wrist and ankle. "They're healin' well," Alfyn remarked, pleased. "I'd consider givin' you lighter casts, but after Wellspring, I'm not confident you won't overdo 'em. In maybe three weeks, you should be good to go without the sling, and give it five more weeks for the casts."

"If five more weeks is your definition of _healing well_ ," Therion grumbled, "then I'm doing a fantastic job retrieving the dragonstones, Primrose has been nothing but chipper since her kidnapping, and Tressa loves me like a brother." He kicked his legs off the bed and grabbed the key before leaving the room. "It's late, I'm going to go find them. Maybe Tressa will have enough money at this point to buy us dinner."

He passed by the same dark-haired merchant as he made his way to the town square, and noticed this time that some of the townspeople around her were dead-eyed, coughing, clutching handkerchiefs, leaning on one another, almost zombie-like, and that she wore a satchel so familiar to him that he'd recognize it anywhere.

So she was selling medicine.

Tressa's wares would not be selling like hers, Therion predicted, and turned out to be fantastically accurate. The young merchant's eyes were pink and Primrose was smiling sadly when he approached.

"We sold only two pillows," the dancer admitted. "And ended with a net loss of more than ten thousand leaves."

Therion flinched. "How-"

"They can't afford medicine. People are dying of fever and their loved ones are trying to sell valuables for far less than Tressa believes them to be worth. They're desperate for hope their loved ones will survive another night. Some- those with no family- are forced to fend for themselves."

"I saw a woman collapse in the streets and- and I don't even know if she woke up- town authority dragged her away by her ankles!" Tressa hid her face, and Primrose embraced her with one arm.

"I hope Alfyn will be able to help them. Tressa's done all she can, paying as much as possible for family photos and antique jewelry. For now, though, I think we ought to pack up and head back to the inn."

Tressa nodded wordlessly, rubbing a fist over her eyes, and carefully packaged the sold heirlooms between pillows and in foam she used to pack the glasses. Primrose lifted one of the boxes as though it weighed nothing, and Therion slipped the key into her pocket. "We're in room 19."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas! <3 <3 <3


	23. Concoct Antipyretic

Upon hearing Primrose’s explanation of the situation, Alfyn packed everything back into his satchel and announced that he would be leaving for a while.

"When are you coming back? When the entire city's cured?" Therion questioned. "I'm coming with you, and I'm dragging you back here when you start falling asleep. You might end up poisoning someone otherwise."

"You're worried about me." Alfyn grinned.

"Don't count on it."

Even a few houses down from the inn, Therion could hear a fretful voice through the open window, and glanced in to see a young girl shivering under a pile of blankets. He gestured at the door, and Alfyn knocked.

"Evenin', ma'am. I was wonderin' whether you might want the help of an apothecary. Seems your daughter-"

"I'm afraid that's none of your business, stranger. I've already bought her a cure. Miss Vanessa claimed she'll be well in the morning. Good evening to you."

Alfyn halted for a moment, then replied a hesitant "sorry 'bout that" as she closed the door.

Therion scowled at the door. "Ungrateful…"

"Ain't you a hypocrite!" There was no venom in Alfyn's tone, as he seemed distracted by something else. He pursed his lips and crossed his arms. "Wonder who 'Miss Vanessa' is. Not many apothecaries who can promise a fever will break in a single night. I certainly can't. 'Specially not to a kid- it takes a real strong concoction."

"Probably faking it for the leaves," Therion replied.

"Or she's real good at her craft," Alfyn cheerily spoke.

They were met with a similar response at the next house they visited, and Therion proposed they focus on those sick townspeople who had no home to curl up in. This turned out to be more successful.

“Are you helping Vanessa, young man? I’ve no leaves to give you. I’m afraid I’ve not much time left.” The man turned aside to cough, and the dry hacking lasted long enough to prompt Alfyn to kneel down beside him.

“May I listen to your breathing? I’m not with Vanessa. Probably I’m not as good as she is. But I won’t charge ya a leaf!”

“Then you have my gratitude- and, of course, my permission.”

Feeling invasive, Therion muttered that he would look around for other potential patients, and that Alfyn ought to make plenty of whatever remedy he came up with.

His first intent was to continue meandering through the alleys of Goldshore, but because he was no apothecary, the realization that he could not promise anything was inescapable. After minutes of pointless wandering, he was drawn back to the small crowd surrounding the dark-haired healer.

"I'll give you anything," one townsperson pleaded. "My son will die without your cure."

"I can't pay your price! My entire life savings amount only to thirty thousand leaves!" cried another.

"And I'm terribly sorry to hear it," the healer responded. She seemed genuine. If Therion did not regard everyone critically, he would have believed her. "I haven't the materials to help you all. I promise, I've sent several men to fetch the most crucial and difficult-to-find ingredient, and once they return, my prices will adjust accordingly. I pray they will be here shortly, but I cannot promise it."

"Excuse me. What ingredient is that? If any of us have any, we might be able to contribute to everyone's wellbeing." Therion stayed behind the crowd and kept his mouth behind his scarf so she did not know who was speaking. He knew it was unlikely any of the townspeople had it, but _Alfyn_ might.

As he hoped, her eyes scanned the crowd, missing him entirely. "I'm nearly certain none of you have any. It's very rare, you see, and thus very expensive, and unless you are an apothecary yourself, there is no need for it."

He hadn't intended to steal her concoctions, knowing he did not need it himself, but despite the sincerity of her answer, she lacked one altogether.

With a vial in his cloak, he quietly left the scene.

Before returning to check on Alfyn, he ensured he was alone and took a moment to examine the vial. A label proclaimed it was a strong fever-reducer, and the liquid inside was smooth, dark green, and viscous. He opened it a moment, and the smell of pine radiated from the medicine.

Hadn't Alfyn said something about Gaborra evergreen as an antipyretic?

But it didn't matter. He'd also said he had none. Apparently the other apothecary's claims that it was rare and costly were accurate.

He opted to keep the vial and not to inform Alfyn about it. It was unlike his usual targets, but it was expensive and highly sought-after nonetheless, and if he could not sell it, he might use it as blackmail. The apothecary's price must have been more than thirty thousand leaves, if the townspeople were bargaining to give her so much, and he could do very well with such a large sum in his pocket.

Alfyn seemed to be nearly finished with his patient when Therion returned. "What did you end up making?"

"Well, the fever he had seems to be gone, so this is kind of a glorified cough suppressant," Alfyn replied. "Doesn't sound like pneumonia or croup to me, but respiratory symptoms alone are a bit too vague to make a diagnosis otherwise. I'm at a bit of a loss. I can't cure it- all I can do is help him breathe a little." Alfyn cleaned up the last of his ingredients, handed a smaller vial to his patient, and tucked the rest of the syrup in his satchel. "If you need me again, come find me, yeah? I'm at the inn, room 19."

The next potential patient they came across had no cough whatsoever, but was weary and drained from fever. Therion kept his lips sealed about the remedy in his cloak as Alfyn capably mixed together a new concoction. Both silently wondered if it would be necessary for every patient.

It turned out not to be the case. Everyone they found demonstrated only one of the two symptoms. Alfyn briefly proposed that there could be two ailments going around, but the reduced immunity from one, he soon reasoned, would make it more likely for a person to contract the other.

"It's probably a progression of a single long illness," he yawned. "It probably starts with fever, and the coughin' makes it spread more quickly. Maybe it's swollen airways that won't let people breathe that kills 'em. Strange that the fever seems to go away, though."

"Fascinating," Therion drawled. "Let's figure it out in daylight."

Alfyn complied, perhaps even more exhausted than Therion judged. He was silent, but seemed satisfied with his work, or perhaps distracted by the mystery. Either way, he did not notice a young girl tugging on his vest for several seconds, which thoroughly annoyed her.

"Excuse me, mister!"

Alfyn stopped in surprise. "Yeah? What can I help you with?"

His expression seemed to soften immediately- Therion had not realized it was not already at its kindest- and he knelt down to her eye level.

Did she remind him of Nina?

"Are you a healer too? You have the same bag as Miss Vanessa, and you smell like medicine."

"Sure am! If you need some of it, give me a holler. I'm happy to help!"

She shifted and crossed her hands behind her back. "Can you make my sister better? Miss Vanessa tried, but now she can't breathe. Mother asked me to find Miss Vanessa again, but her medicine is very expensive."

"I'll do my best, I promise." With determination in his eyes, Alfyn followed the girl to her home, Therion trailing silently behind. She lived several houses away from the inn, as it turned out, and Alfyn hesitated to knock.

"We've already been here," Therion spoke, just as he assumed Alfyn specifically did not want to. "Your mother said our help isn't necessary- that this Vanessa gave her a cure earlier today."

Alfyn bit his lip. "'Fraid it's not a good idea for me to give her medicine if she's recently taken some that I'm not personally acquainted with. Look, why don't I come back in the morning and ask her one more time?"

Dejected, the girl silently went inside, and Therion pulled a heartbroken apothecary back to the inn. Therion had no doubts that Alfyn would wake before any of them to return there and check on the girl.

He only hoped he would be there to prevent it when Alfyn's trust inevitably got him stabbed in the back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi on Discord!  
> https://discord.gg/eX8nx4k


	24. Burn, Baby, Burn

As he predicted, Therion was the last to wake up the next morning. Though he preferred to work alone, he found the empty room to be just a bit too quiet without any meaningless conversation to avoid participating in, and decided he would head to the tavern. He hoped it would not be too empty. Many of the usual drunks, he supposed, would be ill and unlikely to come, but he needed to find at least a few pockets to empty if he wanted to buy food.

He took a dose of painkiller before leaving the inn and wondered if it would assuage his headache. It felt as though he'd already had one too many mugs of ale, and he had not even started drinking.

Based on the weights of their coin purses, most of the tavern-goers were uninvolved with the dark-haired apothecary. They were not broke enough to assume they had spent everything on medicine, but even combined, their change did not amount to thirty thousand leaves. Still, it was more than sufficient to buy a loaf of bread and pot of jam at the bakery next to the tavern. He brought the food to the main square, and joined Tressa and Primrose.

"Sold anything yet?"

"I don't remember it being any of _your_ business," Tressa replied.

"No, then. Need me to grab some of Alfyn's new concoctions to stir up business?" Therion smirked. "The food's meant to be eaten, if you didn't figure it out."

"I think Alfyn's doing a lot more good than I am. We should let him be."

Tressa crossed both her legs and her arms, dismissive, and Therion took the cue to go, leaving the bread and jam with her. He had intended to eat some, but found he was simply not hungry. Primrose took his arm as he turned away.

"She's ashamed to face her parents with debt," she whispered. "She's young and trying to prove she deserves respect and freedom. She can't help the townspeople without failing herself."

It must have been no more than an excuse for her mood, but Therion's eyebrows rose in realization. "No worries. I know a certain someone with tens of thousands of leaves to spare."

He didn't speak another word, instead leaving to find Vanessa. It was impossible that she hadn't sold a single remedy. And it had been laughably easy to steal the medicine, so he imagined it would be just as simple to take money as well, leaving just enough that she did not notice any had vanished.

She was nowhere to be found.

She could not just stand outside selling medicine forever, Therion supposed. At least Alfyn was out helping those who presumably could not find her either.

He hadn't seen Alfyn either, come to think of it. Strange- but, again, not _that_ strange. Perhaps townspeople were allowing him inside their houses this time.

But he did not come back to the inn before Therion fell asleep that evening, either. Even if he considered the likely possibility that Alfyn was overworking himself to heal as many people as possible, it was at the very least annoying, because his headache had persisted the entire day.

And if he considered the alternative, it was worrying.

Therion awoke with intent when he saw Alfyn's bed was still empty in the morning. His determination fizzled slightly when he actually stood up, however, and felt the pounding in his skull, just behind his eyes. He blinked to rid his vision of the white lights in his periphery, sat down slowly when he realized he was actually _dizzy_ , and clenched his teeth as he recognized even his broken shoulder did not hurt as badly as his head.

But it was cold- absolutely _freezing_ \- and once he opened his bleary eyes to see that the sun was bright in the sky and that Primrose had left the fireplace lit for him, he realized that was the worst part. It meant something was wrong- that _he_ was wrong- that he must have a fever. He carefully stood to put his cloak and scarf on- Alfyn had made sure he never slept wearing them again- and dragged his blanket and weary body closer to the fire.

Where was an apothecary when you needed one? Alfyn had already brewed a remedy, and would happily provide him as many doses as he needed, if he was there. Therion could not even be sure that Tressa and Primrose realized he had vanished. But…

_We use the flowers and the bark for their antipyretic properties._

Did he not have a perfectly good fever-reducer in his cloak?

He examined the vial, read and re-read the label, opened it and breathed in the scent of lush forests that now seemed to irritate his throat enough to make him cough.

_I can't pay your price! My entire life savings amount only to thirty thousand leaves!_

It was barely a sip of medicine. How could it be worth so much? He could sell it. Or give it to Tressa to sell, and let her go home proudly announcing that she could make her parents' little shop truly impressive. He would be fine without it.

Would he?

People were dying.

_Miss Vanessa claimed she'll be well in the morning._

He could just take the medicine, go back to sleep, and wake up without a migraine- without the dizziness- without chills. It seemed impossible. He had spent so many nights on the streets, cold and sick and starving, that he had almost forgotten that it was not strictly mandatory to suffer.

But it was only a convenience. He would recover whether he took it or not, even if he did not have Alfyn's medicine. It was just a matter of how long it would take. Tressa had far more to gain, and he would offer it to her first.

He doubted his ability to make it to the main square, though. It had been difficult enough just to cross the room, never mind making it halfway across town. But she would return that evening. He could wait until then. Despite the pounding in his head, burning in his shoulder, wrist, and ankle, and gnawing hunger that only made him more lightheaded, Therion found it astonishingly easy to fall asleep next to the fire.

"Huh? Prim, what's Therion doing on the ground?"

"Sleeping, I gather."

Though they were quiet, it was enough to wake him, reminding him immediately that sound intensified the thudding in his skull. He opted not to move, afraid that doing so would rid him of his realm of warmth.

"He has a bed. And it's barely dinner time."

"I'd rather he sleep on the floor in the middle of the day than not at all, as Alfyn's been trying to do. I have questions, certainly, but I'm equally sure I won't be answered."

"Well, if he's asleep, it means he's not stealing from people!"

Therion shifted. "I've only done so for your benefit," he muttered grimly.

"That's true," Primrose granted, "presuming all you've done is obtain jam and bread. Thank you for that, by the way." Tressa made a frustrated noise in return. "Oh, come off it. You looked famished yesterday." He could hear Primrose's gentle footsteps behind him. "I'm getting you some water. Your voice sounds rough."

Therion sat up to accept the drink as though it took far less effort than he required, and finished more than half of it before speaking again. This time he managed to feign good health. "It's not the only thing I stole."

"Go on," Primrose prompted.

He drew the green vial from his cloak. "This is what that apothecary was selling- the cure everyone's been trying so desperately to afford. I heard someone try to barter it down to thirty thousand leaves. You sell this, you'll be out of debt."

Tressa pulled back, shocked beyond words. Therion half expected her to try to convince him she was not in debt, but she did no such thing. "You… How did you get that?"

Rolling his eyes, Therion slowly explained, as though speaking to a child. "I reached into her satchel while she wasn't looking."

Tressa narrowed her eyes for a moment, then remembered he was offering it to her, and sighed and looked away. "Therion… I'm not an apothecary, you know. I can't diagnose people and sell them medicine, I'm not qualified."

"You're seriously telling me you can't tell when someone has a fever?"

"Well, if you ask me, sleeping next to a fire with flushed cheeks and waking up shivering and speaking with a rough voice… would usually raise eyebrows…" Tressa trailed off, hesitant. Primrose came to the same conclusion, and her hand was on Therion's forehead within a second.

"Don’t touch me!" He ducked to the side, making his head spin, but Primrose had evidently had enough time to make her judgement.

"Seems Tressa's _perfectly_ qualified to tell when someone's feverish," she remarked, crossing her arms. "Did Alfyn not offer you any tea to improve your immunity? He made some every morning for me and Tressa, and I'm _certain_ we left you some every time."

Therion did not respond, pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders.

"I don't understand," Tressa spoke. "You wouldn't drink the tea to prevent it, and now you're trying to give me the medicine to cure it? You could _die_ , Therion!"

She sounded like she was going to cry.

Primrose hooked her arms underneath him, carried him to bed so swiftly he had no time to protest, and tucked the blanket around him as though she had done so hundreds of times before. She hesitated as she took an embroidered silk handkerchief from her brassiere, but folded it carefully, soaked it in cold water, and set it on his forehead nonetheless. He shivered at the touch, but the thought that it might relieve his migraine compelled him to leave it be.

"Drink the medicine, Therion."

Though he said nothing, it was clear to Primrose why he made no move to do so.

"We're not exchanging your life for thirty thousand leaves," she stated. "Not even for a million. You're worth far more than Vanessa could ever think to charge. Drink it."

She did not wait for him to do so himself, instead taking the vial from his hands, pulling the cork out, and holding it to his lips. With little choice to do otherwise, he complied, grimacing as he swallowed the syrup.

“Does your throat hurt?” Primrose asked, perceptive as Therion realized he should have expected her to be.

“No. It’s just bitter as hell.”

There was sympathy in her eyes, but she smiled, retrieving the glass of water from the fireplace. He held his hand out expectantly, and this time, she permitted him to drink it himself.

“Shall I sleep with you?”

Therion choked on the last sip of water. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“Very funny.” She took the glass away. “You must be chilled, given that you were sleeping so close to the fire.”

“Very perceptive. If I find anyone else in my bed at any time, I _will_ stab them.”

The girls were not nearly as intimidated as Therion would have liked- in fact, Primrose regarded him with a sly grin.

"What?" he demanded.

"It's relieving to know you're well enough to snap at us as usual."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Press + For Travel Banter
> 
> Therion, muttering to himself: Of course, when I didn't want them here, they were gathering like flies.  
> Therion, still muttering: And now, when I'm in actual need of an incredibly naive apothecary, where is he?  
> Therion: Right, he fucked off somewhere so I can wait here to succumb to this fever alone.  
> Therion: fucking asshole


	25. Drop Him Like He's Hot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massive thanks to a wonderful friend of mine for not only making sure Alfyn isn't committing medical malpractice but also for writing a large portion of this chapter!  
> Come say hi in the group chat, she's here. https://discord.gg/eX8nx4k  
> Or come slay us for what we've collectively agreed to do in this chapter. We're ready.

Therion woke to a cold sheen of sweat on his skin, and a persistent wintry taste clinging bitterly to the sides of his throat. His tongue felt too dry as he drew in a slow breath, eyes adjusting readily to the grey light that spilled through the salt-stained window. The handkerchief on his forehead had fallen next to his head at some point, still damp but uncomfortably warm. He cursed the last sensations of tension that lingered behind his eyes, and the last muddled suggestions of pain that remained stubbornly sewn into his muscles.

The discomfort increased as he pulled himself up, concentrating when his casts restricted his movement. There was only a moment of recoil, and he could _think_. It was a marked improvement from just a few hours ago, loath as he was to admit it. Therion propped himself up and glanced in Primrose's direction, then in Tressa's. The sheets draped over them rose and fell evenly as they slept. Their faces were perfectly neutral in rest, but at a glance, they radiated peace. The thought gave him pause.

He chose not to linger on that. Therion pushed his hair out of his face, ripping away his covers before his thoughts had a chance to catch up. He decided then that he wanted air. This time, his motives won over a medicinally dulled migraine.

Goldshore whispered as gusts wove between the buildings. The air hardly felt fresh, with every breath reminding him of that bitter tincture that he could almost taste. He was still undecided about where he was going, exactly. From just outside the inn, his options seemed to be knee-high crenelations that shielded a supposedly golden beach from his immediate view, or a terraced city where the sick could do naught but rest in their homes.

The last dregs of his fever protested his small steps towards the seawall, unease boiling in his stomach. Inching closer took too long, and still he would not look over the edge.

A steady rhythm of approaching footsteps drew his attention. He shot a glance between their source and the wall. His fingers twitched beneath his cloak, making to brandish his dagger as the figure approached.

"Therion?"

"Burning the midnight oil, medicine man?" His voice struggled to escape his lips, settling shakily into its usual tone.

"Guess you could say that," Alfyn said, taking slow steps closer. His face was illuminated by the weak orange flame radiating from his lamp. His smile seemed to falter as it flickered. "You're sure up late. What're you up to?"

"Doesn't matter." Therion took care in placing himself between Alfyn and the terrace overlooking the beach, too wary of the situation. He focused on normalizing his voice. If Primrose and, Hells, _Tressa_ were quick to treat his fever, the apothecary would permit even less to pass.

"It does, actually." Alfyn's voice lacked its usual warmth beyond its natural timbre. It was jarring enough that Therion paused, unsure of what to think of the sudden shift. In his state, thinking was still a luxury.

"It really doesn't. Been to the tavern yet?" he deflected, though the question sounded too curt to his ear. The chill that crept up his spine still, unpredictably, took the edge off his words.

"I'm serious, Therion. All this's got me thinking. If you, or Prim, or Tressa gets sick… Well, I'm still figurin' this one out and I-" Alfyn pressed his free palm into his temple. Therion was suddenly aware of the bags that darkened his eyes. "You'd tell me, wouldn't you?"

"Like you wouldn't figure it out yourself."

"That's not good enough."

"You've got a plethora of patients here. Why do you even care?"

His tone made Alfyn flinch, his eyes turned down. Therion caught sight of the way the apothecary's fist clenched at his side. Silence descended between them, something drenched in tension. Wary, Therion made to turn away.

The next thing he knew, the lantern fell to the ground with a clatter, and Alfyn's hand was on his shoulder. Therion tried to shove him away. He had forgotten himself, too tired still to budge the gentle but firm grip. Alfyn noticed it. Both of them stumbled back a few steps.

"We're friends, aren't we?" The response was no more than a whisper. "You're already in rough shape without the fever, and here I am, mixin' salves and tonics for a whole city. It's my job. Can't help but worry about how you're faring."

Therion remained guilty of omission. He couldn't possibly admit to it all now. The medicine, his fever… This was how he would suffer, apparently. He pushed back again, harder this time, a cloud descending over his vision from the exertion.

"I'm-"

_Fine._

If only that was the whole story.

Instead, he was falling.

When did they get so close to that edge? How had it slipped his attention?

Cobble evaporated under his body, and pain shot through his broken ankle as it slammed against the bricks, and the rest of him tumbled over the low barrier. His body pressed against the wall, which provided him no purchase. The blood drained from his face, and any semblance of his previous composure faded. Visceral fear coursed through him. His breathing became laboured, despite his previous attempts to settle it. He felt _sick._

The impact never came.

"Hang on! I've got you." Alfyn's voice seemed to come from leagues above him, but the grip around his right wrist forced a searing pain all the way up to his shoulder.

The ragged gasp tore at him. For once, his tongue seemed useless. All he could do to respond was cough, choking on whatever he could have said.

What would he have said? Told him to let go? What was there to say? He lied so often; would Alfyn even believe him if he thanked him, or apologized? Therion would hardly believe himself.

"Gods, you're light-" If Alfyn had anything to say about the fit of coughs that took hold of him, he said nothing of it. He was a picture of calm contrasted against Therion's internal panic. "Hey, relax, I'm just gonna pull you back up here."

The words trailed off in his mind. Therion's eyes screwed shut. His throat burned. He was _fine_. Exhaustion took over, and he could no longer maintain the tension in his arm. Alfyn's nails caught against the fool's bangle, doing nothing to prevent him from falling, but scratching his wrist deeply.

He was unconscious before he hit the ground.

_This time, you'd best stay dead. Ye hear me? I never want to see ye alive an' breathing again. An' if that means I've gotta climb down and make damn certain gravity did its job this time, I'll do it, tea leaf, even if it means I gotta listen to ye choke out that ye love me one final time as life fades from yer eyes._

It felt as though hot iron had pierced through his ankle, wrist, and shoulder, and Therion tried to scream, but was not able. Darius' hands were around his neck again, making every whimpering gasp possibly his last. Everything was dark, and scorching to the core, and Therion could not tell if he was dying or already in Hell, because he could scarcely imagine a more fitting torture to endure for centuries, millennia, or eternity.

He could feel Darius' hands on his forehead and caressing his cheeks, taunting him, kissing him, laughing when he coughed and gasped for breath, cried and struggled to break away. His thumbs wiped away his tears, tantalizingly cool in the heat wave, but Therion struggled to push his hands away nevertheless. He was too weak, he knew it too well; the other thief had _always_ been stronger than him, and the smaller portions of food Therion received ensured it stayed that way.

He was _starving_.

The bangle was burning through layer after layer of skin on his wrist.

The searing pikes were scraping against his bones.

Therion exhaled, stared Darius in the eyes, and did not take another breath.

_Just make it stop._

Moments passed. The flames almost seemed to diminish. Darius' grip round his neck was just a touch looser. Therion closed his eyes.

"No! _Gods_ , no! Therion, breathe, _breathe_ , come on! Somebody, _anybody, help_!"

Darius was kissing him again, sealing his mouth entirely so he could not breathe even if he wanted to. It was rough, far longer than he expected, and entirely _forced_ , as he had recently found out had always been the case.

"Therion, wake up… Gods damn it all!"

And again.

_Why are you doing this? You've made it clear you never gave a shit about me!_

Then Darius broke the violent embrace and drove a dagger into his chest, pulled it out, stabbed it back in. Over and over, scraping between his ribs, with an even rhythm, he plunged the blade in, always missing his heart and lungs and anything else that might actually _end_ his suffering.

"This is all my fault…"


	26. Gaborran Flora

Alfyn was half-asleep, halfway on the ground with the way he'd tried to curl up next to Therion, and clutching his hand when Therion woke up.

"Oh, thank the gods," he breathed, his voice far more warm and alive than Therion had momentarily thought was possible for someone so exhausted. The apothecary rose to sit on the bed next to him, never releasing his hand, as though it would disappear if he let go. "You're alive…" His voice cracked, like he was about to cry. "Just… don't move for now, alright?"

"Therion's awake?" Tressa cried excitedly, rushing to his bed. Primrose was quick to follow. Given that they were awake and that light was streaming into the room from the open window, it must have been hours since he passed out. The girls soon sat across the bed from Alfyn, leaving Therion feeling trapped and vulnerable from all sides. He shifted, and the surge of pain in his chest warned him not to, crumpling his thin frame in half involuntarily with a coughing fit. Every cough shot familiar flames through his throat and chest, and Therion could not be sure Darius did not leave the dagger between his ribs when he left.

With a hand on his back, Alfyn eased him down. "Ain't gonna ask if you're alright, 'cause I know the answer. I heard and felt your ribs fracture when I performed CPR on you two nights ago, and your fever only broke yesterday, so there's no chance you're feelin' stellar right now."

_Two_ nights?

And Alfyn had broken his ribs?

He didn't have the energy to ask. "Water?" he rasped.

"Yeah, of course! One sec." Alfyn stood up slowly, not wanting to move Therion. "I'm not gonna be treatin' you by myself this time. Vanessa asked me to contact her as soon as you woke up so she could come help." He held a glass to Therion's lips and watched him carefully so he would not choke. "Since your ribs aren't in great shape, coughin' must hurt like hell, so she agreed it would be cruel to charge you to cure your illness. So she's bringin' over the medicine we worked on together."

"Already took it," Therion replied, finding that whispering was far easier.

Primrose nodded. "Indeed. He stole the cure so Tressa might sell it. I insisted he take it to reduce his fever two days ago. I suppose it's done that, but…"

"Ain't helped much with the coughin', has it?" Alfyn empathetically finished. "Well, got good news for you. The glowworm moss we collected together should help with that. I hear Vanessa's got a great recipe; she told me a couple of her first patients were breathin' normally just two days after takin' it. I'd be helpin' her with it, but I couldn't just leave you here. I'd never forgive myself if you stopped breathin' again while I wasn't here to help."

He could remember pieces of the night terror if he tried, but thinking about the face grinning maniacally above him made him nauseous, so he did not try. Still, he knew it had been voluntary- he hadn't _wanted_ to breathe.

Even now, the ache in his ribs and the congested crackling in his throat and lungs made breathing unpleasant. He kept every inhale shallow and slow so as not to provoke any more coughing.

"Anyway. I've taught Prim and Tressa how to do CPR, just in case ya need it again. Hah, I probably wouldn't have slept if they didn't know how, knowin' me… And I probably wouldn't be willing to leave to find Vanessa, either. But I'll bet you're lookin' forward to recovering, and the cure we've put together for the Gaborran whooping cough looks promising," Alfyn finished.

_Gaborran_ whooping cough? Wasn't the antipyretic he stole made from an evergreen of the same name?

He intended to ask, but Alfyn was already leaving the room, and he did not know how to say it in few enough words that he did not start coughing again.

"I'm sure you're hungry," Primrose interrupted his thoughts. He was, and it must have been visible in his expression, because she laughed. "I'll ask the barkeep if he'll make soup. Given the circumstances, I would think he'd be selling little else. Anything for you, Tressa?"

"If you're going to the tavern, I'll have a glass of wine!"

Therion choked on his laughter, and Tressa apologized repeatedly until his coughing died down.

"I'll bring you soup as well," Primrose sighed. "Try not to kill Therion before I come back." Tressa nodded, looking disappointed like she had been planning to do so.

She was largely quiet after Primrose left, allowing Therion the space he had longed for upon waking up. Finally, he had the chance to figure out what condition he was really in. His right wrist was wrapped in bandages, so Alfyn must have dislocated it again trying to pull him up, and his lower ribs hurt slightly worse on the right than the left, but both were excruciating to touch even lightly. If that was from the CPR, then…

Every one of his broken bones was Alfyn's doing.

And if his suspicions were correct, Vanessa was the direct source of the Gaborran whooping cough. Fantastic, then, that they were the ones concocting the cure. With his knowledge of medicine, they could give him anything, and he would have no choice but to blindly swallow it. The whooping cough was already dangerous, though: how might they deign to make him worse?

He wondered if Alfyn might keep him ill but alive for a long time. The apothecary had insisted earlier that he could not go to Noblecourt for his next heist with a broken ankle, even threatening to keep him asleep chemically. Knowing now that five weeks was a generous estimate for his ankle, wrist, and shoulder, could he trust that Alfyn _wouldn't_ keep him in bed for a month or longer?

He was certainly capable of it.

“Tressa,” he hissed, no louder than a whisper but still drawing her attention, “how long are we…” He paused, unable to suppress a cough. “...Going to stay here. In Goldshore.” Now his chest insisted he finish the coughing fit he tried to stave off.

Tressa listened with far more patience than he would have granted her. Visibly sympathetic, she waited until she was certain he had finished coughing. “If you’re thinking you’ll have to come aboard my boat like _this_ , just… don’t worry, okay? I’ll send another letter to my parents if you need more time to recover than Alfyn expected. It would be so much worse if you were in the middle of the ocean right now.”

So they were already arranging for him to stay for a long time.

"How will you pay for the room?"

"You're not seriously worrying about my debt right now, are you? Look, Vanessa and Alfyn have it all sorted out! The medicine they've been making for the whooping cough is in high demand and they've got a monopoly on it. Vanessa told me the profits from one vial would cover the room and meals for more than a month."

That settled it, then. He would have to leave as soon as he could move well enough to get out of bed.

Alfyn and Vanessa were more than capable of arriving before his ribs healed or cough dissipated, though, thoroughly foiling his plan. She laid her satchel on a nearby table and put on a mask and gloves, and Alfyn cheerily introduced her as though Therion did not already know who she was.

To be fair, she had no clue who _he_ was.

"A pleasure," she greeted him, extending a hand for him to shake. He did not accept it, preferring she think of him as impersonal and rude than allowing her to see either his cast or his bangle. It was of no use, though; the bangle was already visible, and pulling his right hand under the blanket only drew her attention to it.

She did not comment on it, oddly enough. "Alfyn told me of your familiar symptoms, so even before I perform your examination, I am nearly certain you have the Gaborran whooping cough. He also said you fell from the walkway down to the beach, and that despite suffering no major trauma, you stopped breathing from the pain and shock. …But you'd prefer to speak about it privately, wouldn't you?" she proposed, noticing his defensive position.

He said nothing, but Alfyn piped up nonetheless. "No problem! I'll head to the lobby, in case ya need me!" Tressa waved and followed along, taking care to ensure the door shut quietly.

"There you are. And he mentioned your previously broken bones, of course, and that he unintentionally caused two more fractures in your ribs trying to help you breathe. Have I missed anything?" She paused for a moment. "If you can't speak, hold up one finger for yes and two fingers for no."

Two fingers. The chain clattered against the bangle.

"Alright. I trust Alfyn's done his job with your broken bones, so if you'll remove your cloak and scarf, I'll start by listening to your breathing."

She did not actually give him the chance to remove them himself, leaning over him and pulling them off.

"Where are you from?" Therion whispered, knowing she was close enough to hear.

"Victor's Hollow. Why do you ask?"

"I thought you might have brought something back from Gaborra with you."

She drew back as he started coughing, but there was no semblance of shock or anger in her eyes. For a moment, Therion dared to believe he had misjudged her. He really _wasn't_ qualified to identify Gaborra evergreen, and Alfyn, who had been working with her far longer than Therion's brief encounter, trusted her wholeheartedly.

"Is that so?" She returned to her former position with her ear on his chest. "Take a deep, slow breath, please."

He complied, impatient, and resumed speaking quickly afterwards. "If you didn't give me Gaborra evergreen, tell me I'm wrong."

She locked eyes with him, and spoke sincerely. "Very well. I have not given you anything containing Gaborra evergreen, you have my word." She turned away, retrieving several bottles from her satchel.

Something in her cadence did not feel right, but her posture was too open for it to be a lie.

"I'll apply this salve over your lower ribs to ease the pain from the fractures, and this one higher on your chest for the congestion in your lungs. It is the whooping cough, as I expected, so I'll provide you a vial of the cure. Take it in three equal doses, with one dose per day." She unbuttoned his shirt, receiving a dour expression from Therion. He winced the moment she touched him to apply the salve, but persisted.

"And have I _stolen_ anything from you containing Gaborra evergreen?"

She subconsciously pressed harder on his ribs, forcing him to clench his teeth so as not to cry out in pain. The dagger lodged between them cut deeper.

"I expect you will not change your mind on the matter, no matter what I say to dissuade you. Does that hurt too much? If so, tell me, and I will stop."

"Then stop." He was almost surprised when she did, cleaning her fingers with a handkerchief from her satchel and opening the other salve. He was absolutely surprised to feel that it was cool where her hands had been, and that the pain seemed somewhat dulled.

"I have no intention to kill you," she spoke quietly. "But you do not seem willing to trust me that my medicine will do you no harm. So, with your permission, I will leave. Perhaps Alfyn will be able to explain to you that the Gaborran whooping cough is fatal without this cure."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Press + For Travel Banter
> 
> Alfyn: I saved Therion's life and fixed his wrist after I accidentally dislocated it. I am now making sure he gets proper medicine by continuing to help Vanessa make it. I am a good friend.  
> Friend: You fucked up a perfectly good thief is what you did. Look at him. He has anxiety


	27. Hypocritic Oath

He was on the verge of unconsciousness when Alfyn entered. The apothecary was holding a sizeable glass bottle of what Therion had come to recognize as the cure to the whooping cough. It was translucent and faintly blue, and in low light, it shone.

“Did she give you any of this stuff?” Alfyn asked, setting it down carefully.

“No.”

“Huh. She told me I was right about you havin' the cough, though. Did you refuse to take it or somethin'?" He eased the cork from the bottle and used a dropper to measure out a dose.

"Show me your tome. With the… medicine recipes."

Alfyn raised his eyebrows, amused. "My Apothecary's Guide to Advanced Concoctions? Alright." He dug the book from his satchel and laid it within reach of Therion's good hand. "So I'm right then, about you not takin' the medicine from her. You like to know what's in it too, huh?"

Narrowing his eyes, Therion refused to dignify him with an answer. He looked through the appendix to find glowworm moss, and turned through roughly half the book to find the right page.

"...What else is in it?"

"Sleepweed, since the coughin' keeps some people up, noxroot to reduce inflammation, and honey for the throat. Reckon it improves the taste, too."

It took several minutes for him to read through each section, but upon finding that none of them had significant side effects, he was not as satisfied as he thought he might be. There was no way to be certain that Alfyn had disclosed every ingredient, because instructions as to how to brew the glowworm cure were not in the book.

"...What else?"

Alfyn ran a hand through his hair. "If you wanna be real specific, water? Why're you so worried about it? I've given you plenty of my cures before."

"This one's Vanessa's." He turned to the page on Gaborra evergreen, and slid the book forward. "And _this_ is what she put in the fever-reducer."

Alfyn recognized the diagram before even reading the heading on the page. "No, I don't think… She's not the kind of person who'd use Gaborra evergreen despite knowin' the risks. She might be more well-versed in this profession than me an' Zeph combined, but it takes a real master to prepare it properly, so it doesn't cause Gaborran… whooping cough…"

Therion laughed, but it quickly progressed into a coughing fit. "Say that again," he wheezed, "with a straight face. I dare you."

"Where's the vial you drank from?" Alfyn snapped. Therion gestured with his broken arm, expecting that crossing his good arm over his chest would be worse. The scent of pine permeated the room, and Alfyn cursed.

"I swear on my mum's ashes we didn't use anything of the kind in the glowworm treatment," he promised, his eyes so wide and sorrowful that Therion was inclined to believe him. "I have to go. I… Vanessa said she was leaving town. I have to make sure everyone who needs it gets this cure. I have to _find her_ again before she leaves. I'm sorry."

The urgency in his tone was apparent, and he left the room. Then it was silent, and with the lobby too far away to eavesdrop, Therion began to feel like he was truly alone. He wasn't sure whether he liked it or not.

He wondered what Alfyn would do if he did catch up to Vanessa. Ask her to return? Demand her reasoning for using the evergreen?

Darius would have killed her.

If it had been Darius, so long ago, sick and broken and made worse by an apothecary he had, for a time, almost trusted, _Therion_ would have killed her. The knowledge made him feel sick, and the image of plunging his dagger into Vanessa's stomach did not help matters.

What if Alfyn had been in his place?

He was broken from his thoughts by a knock on the frame of his open door. Primrose stepped in, graceful as ever. "Not to interrupt, if you were trying to sleep, but Alfyn did not want you to be alone."

His course of action would be obvious if Primrose had the whooping cough. He would kill Vanessa. Primrose would not question him, for there would be nothing to ask. She understood revenge better than most.

Once again, she drew him away from the thought. “You are still hungry, aren’t you?”

He was absolutely famished. But the thought of actually eating was more than he thought he could handle. He glanced down, and she understood. "I can warm it over the fire later, if you prefer."

She put the soup away and sat on her bed on the opposite end of the room. Her silent musing was to be expected, but her frequent glances to the window were not.

"Alfyn… didn't tell you, did he? Probably just ran off with Tressa, telling you to stay with me," Therion guessed.

She nodded.

"Tressa's more likely to keep me awake, and you wouldn't keep up with him with your sprained ankle," he pieced together.

"I would beg to differ. I've performed on more sprained ankles than I can count." She paused. " _You_ would understand that. But go on."

Therion scoffed. "I would know it throws off my balance. Makes me slower."

_Makes yer useless dead weight to lug about._

He averted his gaze, crossed his arms across his aching ribs and dealt with the consequences, and once he could breathe, continued. "And Tressa… wouldn't kill Vanessa even if she wanted to. You might."

"Why is that?"

"She caused the whooping cough."

His lungs were evidently not quite finished seizing, and his vision was blurry when he was finally able to gasp for air. It was the shift underneath him that informed him that Primrose was sitting on his bed beside him.

"Breathe," she whispered, knowing he was not fully capable of snapping that he was doing everything in his power to do so. "You need not speak so loudly; I'm here." He was fully prepared to swat away any wandering hands that approached him, but she let him be. More than likely, she did not find touch comforting either.

"You were right," she added, barely a whisper. "Almost. If she infected the town, I would think she deserves no less than death. But in this case… Alfyn spoke of her more fondly than of most. I daresay he considers her more than a colleague.”

_Oh._

He was uncomfortably close to feeling guilty for accusing Vanessa. But he had been _right_. Had Alfyn not been present and willing to share the glowworm cure for free, she would have been a murderer. Perhaps she still was, if they had not been quick enough in making it.

Alfyn and Tressa returned, breathless as he was, a while later.

“She’s gone. Her lackeys too,” Alfyn admitted. “I’d guess she didn’t want to stick around after you figured out what’s in her medicine.”

Tressa flopped down in her bed, exhausted. Primrose nodded sombrely. Alfyn turned away, measuring a dose of medicine, and Therion could swear there was shame in his eyes.

“I gotta go. There must be… more than a hundred people, I’d say, who need this. Therion, you first.”

This time, he did not protest in the slightest. It was bitter, but not overwhelmingly so. The worst of it was masked by the taste of honey.

“I’m coming with you,” Tressa piped up. “I’ve got a bunch of photo albums and antiques to return to their true owners!”

“In that case, I guess we’re leavin’ you here again, Prim. Sorry about that.” Alfyn ran a hand through his hair. “The sleepweed should knock ‘im out pretty soon.”

Therion had not wanted to fall asleep. He knew with certainty who would be above him if he did.

In the end, such knowledge neither prevented it nor made it more tolerable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You thought it was a good idea to be excited for the Vanessa fight.  
> You did not account for the fact that all fanfic writers are chaotic neural.


	28. Just Desserts

It was two days until he could breathe properly and five until Alfyn cleared him to leave the room. Along the way, Alfyn found out he had refused to eat for almost a week, and would not rest until he did.

"You don't _have_ any weight to lose, Therion," the apothecary told him. "If you're nauseous, I can make you somethin' for it, but you can't stop eating altogether. I'm not lettin' you die of starvation."

Thereafter, he was made to eat no less than two meals per day, and with his constant supervision even long after it was determined he would not need CPR again, he had little choice but to bear it.

His ribs were not healed, but Alfyn was satisfied with his condition by the tenth or twelfth day- by then, Therion had lost count.

By then, he was as certain as one could be that Darius had gotten to the dragonstone first, and that there was nothing awaiting him in Noblecourt. They had made it to the opposite end of Orsterra, but more likely than not, would have to travel back to Bolderfall empty-handed. He wondered if there were still any dragonstones left in Orsterra that Darius did not have.

More importantly, he wondered how in the world he would get them back.

They departed from Goldshore two days later. More than a few townspeople came to the port to wish Alfyn and Tressa safe travels, and Therion was not unwilling in the slightest to accept their gifts of baked goods. A pair of girls leapt into Alfyn’s arms to hug him before he stepped on the boat, and for a moment Therion was afraid he would have to deal with _children_ on his hypothetical heist. But he recognized one of them as the girl who desperately asked Alfyn to heal her sister, and it was difficult not to smile at the inescapable conclusion that the other girl was her sister in perfect health.

Therion, perched atop Tressa’s stacks of crates and making his way through a box of plum dumplings, could see them waving until they were too far away to be distinguished.

“So did you end up breaking even?” Alfyn asked Tressa. “Seemed a couple folks wanted to pay you back when you offered to give ‘em back their belongings.”

“Not quite,” she admitted. “Some of them even gave me extra as a thank-you for the medicine and for thinking to return it, but I wasn’t trying to sell them back their own belongings. Not everyone offered, and I refused to take it from anyone who couldn’t afford food. But I can try setting up shop in Noblecourt to make back the rest. I’m sure my parents will understand.”

Alfyn grinned in earnest, but Therion noticed a very slight change in her tone. She was more nervous than she would let on.

“You forgot to return that necklace.” Therion gestured to Tressa’s chest. Her hand immediately fluttered to it. “I can get you a fantastic price for it, if we can find Noblecourt’s black market.”

“First of all, _no_. The goldsmith gave them to me and Alfyn for helping save his wife and son.” He hadn’t noticed, but Alfyn had the same necklace tucked into his vest. “And secondly! I can’t believe you would try to sell my belongings on the black market! I didn’t even think Noblecourt _had_ one- I thought only Wellspring did!”

Therion scoffed. “Seriously?”

She shifted. “Yeah?”

“Wellspring’s is only the biggest and most well-known. Bet you anything there’s even one in Rippletide.”

Predictably, Tressa bristled at the very thought. Therion laughed and opened another box of baked goods, finding caramel apples therein.

“When I insisted you eat more regularly, this isn’t what I meant,” Alfyn scolded. “You’re going to get seasick.”

“Hm. Good thing I’m traveling with an apothecary.” Therion smirked and took his first of many sticky, satisfying slices of apple.

The remainder of the ride was largely quiet. Alfyn fell asleep early in the evening, as it was decided that Tressa should not need to stay awake late that night to ensure the boat remained on course. She would do the maneuvering past the Loch of the Lost King, and it would be a straight path from there. Alfyn woke her shortly before sunrise to dock the boat.

Noblecourt itself was not along the shore. The trek was not particularly long or arduous, but the lack of scenery and chilly, dry morning air made it appear longer than it was.

"Good thing Tressa's a good navigator," Alfyn remarked, drawing a smile from the sleepy merchant. "I haven't seen a walking path since Goldshore. If it were just me, I'd probably stop to pick all the medicinal herbs and get myself turned around."

"At least you acknowledge it," Therion muttered.

"Sure, like we ain't here to pick all the fancy dragonstones. How's that any different? What are they even for? Doubt they heal people."

What _were_ they for?

"They get bangles off my wrists and apothecaries off my back."

Tressa grabbed his shoulder- his right one, despite being on his left. He wondered if she had figured out not to touch the left one, or if Alfyn had told her it was still broken. "You told me this was so you could return them to their true owners, _Therion_. I should have known you wouldn't pursue a noble cause."

Several moments passed, then he glanced down at her and smirked. "I see you haven't decided not to come along, though."

He didn't really want Tressa to accompany him, though, not if he was going to perform a heist. Alfyn, too, would likely be more hassle than anything. Only Primrose seemed suited for such a task. She was quiet and graceful, had few reservations about self-defense, and after Wellspring, was somewhat experienced.

"Do you still have that cloak?" he asked her as they entered town.

"Yes," she replied, more hesitantly than he expected. "But if I need not accompany you this time…"

Her arms, for the first time, were shielding her exposed skin, giving her a touch more coverage than her brassiere and loincloth did. She had never been shy about her body, despite countless men expressing their lust for it. Her sudden modesty was expressly strange. Alfyn noticed as well.

"What's wrong?" the apothecary asked, relieving Therion of the duty.

"I would buy some new clothes here. We will be in the Frostlands sooner than you think, if we are to return the stones to Bolderfall. Have you any money, Therion? I don't want to worsen Tressa's debt."

Therion shot her a sideways glance. "You lived here, didn't you?"

"You understand, then," she muttered. "I can't be seen here like _this_."

He nodded and pressed a stack of leaves into her palm. "Fine, _Lady Azelhart_. That should be plenty for a dress, coat, and boots. Find Alfyn and Tressa when you're done. I'm going to do this alone."

"Whose money was that?!" Tressa cried, grabbing the back of his cloak as he walked off. A wayward chain snapping backward from his wrist was sufficient to answer her question.

Heathcote had told him of a scholar studying the dragonstone, but Therion doubted there would be any shortage of scholars around. Noblecourt was a wealthy city in close proximity to the Royal Academy in Atlasdam. He doubted he would be able to turn a corner _without_ running into a philosopher, alchemist, or astronomer.

Being close enough to the sea, it also had no shortage of merchants. Tressa would fit right in, and would almost certainly have an easier time selling her wares.

He supposed he could ask around if anyone knew where he might find the stone, but it would be indiscreet. Every person who knew he was looking for it would be an obstacle when he actually tried to obtain it. Perhaps Alfyn would have been helpful after all. No doubt he had already chatted up more than a few random passersby. But Therion was not about to admit defeat so quickly.

“Excuse me,” he greeted a man in scholarly robes as he passed by, “would you know anything about the infamous ruby dragonstone, perchance?”

The man halted his pace, collecting the scrolls that were nearly falling from his arms. His hair was greying, but he had a youthful, almost eccentric look. Therion guessed he must be a writer. “A bit, yes. But you would find my knowledge quite lacking in comparison to Orlick’s. He’s been studying the thing for months now, with- I would not say passion, per se. Obsessive devotion? Unhealthy fanaticism?”

“I get the idea,” Therion interrupted him, nearly forgetting he was attempting to look distinguished. His clothing would shatter his ruse either way, he supposed. “Where can I find him?”

“His manse is atop the hill. There,” he gestured, several scrolls falling to the ground.

“Thanks. Sorry to interrupt you,” Therion muttered.

“A moment, if you will,” the writer added, kneeling to collect his papers. “You may find him in the tavern. Something’s upset him of late.”

Therion nodded in acknowledgement. That was convenient, to say the least: he had been planning to stop in the tavern that evening.

But upon further consideration, once he saw that no guards were present before Orlick's manse, it was likely that he was spending his days in the tavern because the dragonstone had already been taken from him.

Therion pried the lock open, but he knew there was no chance it was there. He had been too slow. He had permitted others to join him, dragging him down further. And he _knew better_. He supposed it was exactly what he deserved.


	29. Two Rooms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two rooms Therion does not break into.

There was but one door in the manse that Therion could not open. It had no keyhole to slip his lockpicks into, and he could not discern what to do with the geometric contraption beside the door. But he had plenty of time, as there was not a soul in the manse, and he had a vague feeling there would not be for a while.

More than half an hour later, he resigned that it must not be possible to break in with the tools he had, and left. He decided it was worth looking into, however, as he saw no reason to keep a room locked so securely if nothing of value was inside.

His next plan of action was to visit the tavern. If Orlick had been frequenting the place, the barkeep would know him well enough to point him in the right direction.

“That’s him,” the barkeep gestured, indicating a stout man with no shortage of empty mugs of ale before him. “He’s been here every night this week. Barham came with him, once or twice, but said something about his obsessive personality a while ago and hasn’t come back.”

Therion, decidedly tired of listening to gossip about the man, ordered two drinks and approached Orlick. He set one on the table amidst the empty glasses.

“It’s yours if you’ll tell me about the dragonstone.”

This startled the scholar from his drunken stupor. “I knew it!” he declared. “I knew my research would be important. He kept telling me… it wasn’t worth looking into in such detail. That I should give it up. I knew he was wrong. If you wait a moment… I can come back in a couple minutes with all the papers I wrote about it.” He stood up, leaning heavily on the table. “I’ll be- right back.”

Therion stepped back. “That’s…great, I guess, but I’m more interested in seeing the stone for myself.”

“You won’t- you won’t believe this.” Therion was almost certain he _would_. “Just last week. Some green-clad son of a bitch- _stole_ it from me. While I was home, too! Just meandered right out through the front door! I gave chase, but he was out of town before I could blink an eye.”

Fantastic.

“Right. You can’t help me, then, and you look one ale away from passing out, so I’ll take this.” He had seen it coming, but even still, the rage that coursed through his veins made him want more than one drink.

Orlick predictably stumbled forward, roaring with indignation, but Therion doubted he could make it to the other end of the tavern standing up, and ignored him.

_So Darius opened the lock I couldn’t._

It was the only logical conclusion. There was nowhere else in the manse that seemed to be lacking a dragonstone: no empty stand or pedestal to display it, nor any distinguishing study space Therion would assume ideal for writing papers. And an obsessive, eccentric scholar would have a suitably pompous lock guarding his treasured stone at all times. Not only had Darius been faster, he must have found a key Therion hadn’t. It made his blood boil.

But that was not all, was it? Orlick had not mentioned any other thieves alongside him, so Gareth must not have assisted him in the escape. Darius had always passed as much treasure as possible to Therion when they fled together, as Darius was slower, and Therion more nimble-fingered. If Darius was caught, whether his captor was quick or whether he purposefully lagged behind to allow Therion to escape with ease, Therion would unlock his cell door as soon as night came.

He hadn't cared much about Therion, but no doubt he trusted him.

It made sense. Therion had trusted Darius, too.

He left the tavern with a bitter taste in his mouth that he could not blame entirely on the ale. He supposed he would tell the others of his failure, so they might leave sooner rather than later. Flamesgrace would be the next logical destination, and they would have to buy lanterns and warm clothing if they expected to make it there.

He found Tressa's little shop in a busy walkway, and was surprised to see a crowd around her.

"...crafted by hand by artisans in the Coastlands! Only available for a short time! You won't find these exquisite glasses anywhere else!"

So perhaps she was a bit more charged when those around her were not suffering.

Primrose stood beside her, raising crystal in the air so even those as far back as Therion could see the glimmer of Tressa’s product in the sunlight. And though he could not see _her_ , he knew her brassiere had no sleeves to speak of. He slipped through the crowd to see her closer, and froze when she was within his view.

Her dress was red velvet. It reached her ankles, and intricate gold swirls cascaded down the sides. The corset was attractive but not revealing, and her hair was braided into a bun. It was Primrose standing before him, but it felt more accurate to call her Lady Azelhart. Without even returning his gaze, she convinced him to feel guilty for ever calling her a whore.

"Stunning, isn't she?" Therion had not expected to be spoken to, and it broke him from his thoughts. He recalled the man from hours earlier by his grey ponytail and scholar's attire. While Therion had no intention whatsoever to speak to him again, he did intend to rob the town's namesakes blind while he had the chance, and it was sometimes more inconspicuous to engage in conversation than to avoid it.

"Sure," he muttered, trying to detect whether there was lust in the writer's gaze. Why else would he point out Primrose's beauty?

"Possible it's only my imagination, but I'm certain I recognize her. She reminds me so of the young lady of House Azelhart. She has the same soft features and fire in her eyes." The writer smiled, reminiscing. "I imagine she would be… twenty-three, were she alive today."

Therion eyed him with suspicion. "And you would know that because…?"

"I tended the gardens for the Azelhart family for many years before becoming a playwright." He seemed pleased Therion had asked, but did not take it as an invitation to disclose his entire life story, which Therion thoroughly appreciated.

"Are you going to speak to her, then?" he ventured.

The writer paused. "You're not saying this is Miss Azelhart, are you?"

"I'm not saying anything." Therion shrugged and disappeared into the crowd before the writer could ask him any more questions. He supposed it was none of his business who spoke to Primrose, as her dagger was at least as sharp as his, but he stayed nearby to eavesdrop in case his first impression of the writer was incomplete or incorrect.

The first thing he heard was Tressa gasping, breathing a sigh of relief, then berating Primrose for dropping the glass. Primrose evidently paid her little attention.

“Simeon,” she whispered.

“Primrose Azelhart,” he marvelled. "After your disappearance so many years ago, I feared the worst. But you have grown into such a beautiful young lady. Were your father here… I am certain he would be as stunned as I am."

"Tressa," the dancer addressed, "give me a minute. I'll be right back. Actually… I doubt I will."

She gestured for Simeon to follow her, and made her way through the crowd. Tressa shot Therion a curious look, and he indulged her, joining her behind the stand.

"I must have heard you wrong. I thought you were looking for _dragonstones_ , not _Azelharts_. They sound so similar."

Therion scoffed. "Even if he's the only one, there are more Azelharts than dragonstones for me to find here. Another thief stole them while we were in Goldshore. I’ll have to head back to Bolderfall to inform the Ravuses.”

"Okay," Tressa replied.

"Okay?"

"Yeah. You can go if you're ready. I can handle my shop by myself. But you should let Primrose catch up with that grey-haired guy before you go. I’ve never seen her so happy.”

It was true. He had witnessed Primrose’s many states of melancholy and musing, her bitter rage, and her amusement at his expense, but seeing Simeon brought true joy to her eyes. It was the first time since she was kidnapped that he saw a genuine smile grace her lips.

“Alfyn went to the bookbinder, if you wanted to discuss going back to Bolderfall.”

“You don’t want me near your merchandise.”

“Don't be ridiculous. ...I don't want you near my _profits_.”

Therion rolled his eyes and slipped away through the crowd. If she did not want his company, she would not have it. And if he was going to permit Primrose time with Simeon, he was in no particular rush to accompany Alfyn, either. He roamed the town, picking locks and pockets and disappearing just as effortlessly. He filled his coin purse and several others, and, hours later, treated himself to a dinner he was not hesitant to say he could afford.

Alfyn entered the tavern before he could finish his hot cocoa, though, and Therion hated how easily he spotted him. His waving was not subtle whatsoever, and Therion wanted to conceal just how much coin he had stashed in his cloak.

“No ale tonight?” Alfyn feigned surprise.

Therion narrowed his eyes, staring into his cup. “Your tonic numbs the pain better than ale does,” he admitted.

“Well, hey, good to hear it!” He pulled up a chair to sit across from Therion. “I booked us three beds at the inn.”

“Look. Just because I didn’t attend the Royal Academy of Atlasdam doesn’t mean I can’t count. Tressa’s still here, and I don’t care what you say, she’s too young to sleep with you. And I’ve already established why neither of us is sleeping with Primrose, and don't intend to repeat myself. Are you taking the floor again, herb boy?”

“No,” he said simply. “Primrose is sleeping elsewhere tonight.”

"Look. That's not necessary. I've more than enough coin to pay for four beds- hell, four _rooms_ tonight, and to buy winter attire for all of us."

"He's not paying her." Alfyn almost seemed amused at his momentarily confused expression. "Did no one ever tell you? Turns out sometimes people sleep together because they genuinely like each other."

"Do you mean… That grey-haired playwright? Simeon?"

Alfyn grinned. "Yeah. He took her back to her childhood home this afternoon, then out for dinner. I only saw her in passing- only long enough for her to tell me she would be occupied until tomorrow morning."

"You're kidding," Therion muttered. "Maybe I _will_ have an ale."


	30. I Saw Three Ships

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and one sailboat!  
>  Happy Valentine's Day! I'm sorry about the wait, but I thought this chapter would be perfect for today ;D

“You owe me,” Tressa informed Therion over breakfast. “I calculated it last night. Four thousand three hundred sixty leaves. Before I sail back to Rippletide, please. I don’t know if I’ll see you again after that.”

“Uh huh. Is that so. Very interesting. Why?”

“That’s the cost of the merchandise I _would_ have sold, if not for the fact that many of my customers had ‘somehow misplaced’ their coin purses.”

Alfyn stifled a laugh. “You weren’t kidding when you said you could afford four separate rooms.”

“I have no reason to kid.” Therion shrugged, pouring himself the last of the coffee. “I also have no reason to pay you for merchandise I haven’t bought.”

“You do if you’re the reason I couldn’t sell it!” Tressa protested.

Therion did not bother responding, as Primrose entered the inn, her fingers still laced through Simeon’s. He wondered if he should have cut their time short. If the dreamy glances she still occasionally shot him were any indication, she was completely enraptured with him, and if Simeon was inclined to stay in Noblecourt, they might have to bid farewell to Primrose as well.

It was his fault, too. If he hadn’t told the playwright it was indeed Lady Azelhart…

...She might not have broken free of her depression, he bitterly realized.

“How was last night?” Alfyn asked, standing to retrieve a chair for each of them.

Primrose covered her grin with one hand. “Is Tressa not too young to hear it?”

“No,” Tressa interjected.

“It was…” Simeon paused, ignoring them both. “Would you believe me if I said I had no words to describe it?”

“No,” Therion echoed.

He could remember his first time with Darius, and, if necessary, describe it with ease. Darius had been completely in control. It had been painful at first, but Darius' insistence that it would get better turned out not to be entirely false. And though neither of them had said anything on the matter, Therion had felt disgusting when it was over- not physically, per se, but as though he had done something far worse than any of his heists.

He was appalled that Primrose was willing to sacrifice her body to strangers as a profession. Her determination to kill her father's murderers was far more than he could fathom- far more, certainly, than his desire to return the dragonstones. He would not be willing to sleep with a single person in exchange for his freedom, never mind the countless men who had hired Primrose for pocket change and returned her so she might be abused by her master.

She was far stronger than he was.

He wondered if Primrose had enjoyed it as much as she claimed to. Simeon certainly had, but Primrose avoided the question. Still, she was right, to a degree- it was not the most modest time or place to ask.

At least this time it had been her choice.

And at least she had chosen a gentleman to accompany her. Based on his demeanour, Simeon would be far more kind to her than someone like Darius was likely to be. He was elegant in his movements in a manner that reminded Therion of Primrose's dancing, and had been more than helpful the previous day. Not only had he given Therion directions, he had paid stunningly little mind to his coin purse as he left.

Simeon sat beside him as they finished breakfast, and Therion drew his shackled right hand under his cloak. He didn't think the writer had noticed his manacle yet, and he didn't want to strain Primrose's first voluntary relationship in… how long? A decade?

"I'm going to pack my things," he announced, standing up with both hands tucked into his sling. "We'll leave as soon as Tressa has everything on her boat. Primrose-" He hesitated, not certain which answer he wanted to hear. "Are you coming with us?"

She raised a cup of black coffee to her lips, but smiled devilishly and did not drink it. "I am indeed. And I hope you will not mind that I have asked Simeon if he would accompany us as well. He has agreed to assist me in finding the men who killed my father."

"Hey, welcome to the team!" Alfyn raised his mug of tea as a toast before Therion could decide whether he did, in fact, mind.

He opted to say nothing on the subject, and resigned to collecting the valuables he had stolen and finding a way to conceal them. The most pressing matter was the bangle. He could not do without any hands whatsoever, so it would be impossible to keep it hidden in the sling whenever Primrose and Simeon were around.

Unless…

Therion tugged his left wrist from the sling and stretched his fingers. Alfyn had said something to the effect of the sling being unnecessary within three weeks, but how long ago had that been? It must have been at least two weeks, given that he had acquired and recovered from the Gaborran whooping cough in that time, and if it had been only a prediction about a general point in a gradual process, surely it was no different if he took it off now.

The cast was still restrictive, but he could move his fingers and elbow, and he imagined it would be enough. With his sling now on his right arm and his bangle resting peacefully in cloth, the chain moved far more quietly and a bit of the tension in his wrist was alleviated. He had forgotten how heavy the bangle was.

“I didn’t realize you had anything to pack,” Alfyn commented, suspicious, as he entered the room. “Your wrist bothering you? Something I can help with?”

“I don’t, and it isn’t.” Therion shrugged, pulling his cloak back on with some difficulty.

“Even your right one? Didn’t think it needed a sling.”

“It doesn’t. And you’ve probably never been ashamed of anything in your life, so I see no point in explaining why I tried to conceal the bangle the moment my left arm started to recover.”

The moment he said it, he knew it was untrue, as the memory of Alfyn’s guilt for ever letting a patient’s life slip away from him returned, accompanied by the suspicion that he had started to fall for Vanessa. But Alfyn did not respond. The sound of bottles clattering in his satchel seemed oddly silent. Therion was almost inclined to apologize.

“If you’re gonna be using your left hand, you should let me take a look at it first. And I’m guessin’ you’ll want a lighter cast there.”

He held his wrist out for Alfyn to examine, unsure what to say. Surely he did not deserve this much patience.

"I do understand, believe it or not," Alfyn finally replied, unwrapping the cast. And he left it at that, speaking again only to ask if moving his wrist hurt (it did), to ask if the new bandages were too tight (they weren't), and to insist that Therion should not help Tressa carry the boxes back to her boat (he wasn't planning on it, anyway).

The task was quick this time with Simeon's assistance, as none of them had to take two crates. Tressa jumped off the dock into the boat, causing it to rock slightly.

"I'm going to Atlasdam," she said. "Once I take these home, I mean. I'm delivering a satchel of books to the library at the Royal Academy. Will you meet me there?"

"Not necessary. I'll buy winter clothes and lanterns here, so we won't have to make a detour on our way to Flamesgrace," Therion shrugged. Tressa narrowed her eyes, trying to look more annoyed than disappointed.

"Hm. I wonder if that's wise," Simeon commented. "It is far more common for travelers to stop in Atlasdam to prepare before going north, so you would find that most tailors sell their wares there."

"And we would'a gone to Atlasdam to see you either way, Tressa," Alfyn added. "We're not in any kind of hurry to get back to Bolderfall, are we?"

"I would not suspect we are," Primrose smirked in Therion's direction. "Tressa told me how finding the dragonstone went."

Tressa brightened. "Good! And Therion?" She extended her hand. "Someone owes me four thousand three hundred sixty leaves."

He raised his eyebrows. "Someone else can wait until we find her in Atlasdam."

She crossed her arms. “Think of it as the fee for getting rid of me.”

He had been lucky, he realized as Tressa sailed away with full pockets. She and Primrose were too comfortable mentioning his occupation in public. Primrose might easily have worded her brief explanation in terms of his attempts to _steal_ the dragonstone, while Tressa was not unlikely to comment on how the money he gave her was not his own. He had paid it far less mind before there was someone he was specifically trying to hide it from, but it was a dangerous idea in general. He did not want to end up in prison again.

“You must be more wealthy than I presumed,” Simeon commented. “It’s your attire. I would almost call it threadbare.”

Therion pulled away, realizing how close the playwright was. “Mind your own business.”

“He’s too generous to worry about his own clothing,” Primrose explained.

“Excuse me, what?”

She replied with a swish of her embroidered skirt. “I didn’t get the chance to thank you.”

She looked so natural that it had been easy to forget that she had been almost entirely nude just the previous day. The reminder brought a gentle, proud smile to Alfyn’s face, and Simeon seemed impressed and trusting. Therion was tempted to jump off the dock as he had in Rippletide.

“But you and Alfyn will need winter clothing as well. The sooner we depart, the sooner you can speak to the Ravuses,” Primrose finished.

Therion scoffed. “If that’s the case, let’s linger as long as we can.”


	31. Logical Course of Action

“I’m starting to think the southern route is more cost-effective,” Therion remarked upon hearing the price of the winter attire he and Alfyn had selected. He emptied one of his few remaining coin purses on the tailor’s desk. “And there goes tomorrow’s dinner.”

“It would also take longer to go south, if you didn’t remember. So we’re saving on inn rooms and food. Besides, Prim and Simeon already got coats and boots with ‘em.”

“Great. They can sell them so we don’t have to carry fur boots through the desert.”

Alfyn laughed, slinging his new coat over his shoulder. “I can look for patients if we need the coin. I mean, especially if we’re waiting for Tressa to get here. I’m heading to the library next- Noblecourt’s bookbinder didn’t have what I was looking for.”

“What were you looking for? A beginner’s guide to economics? Chapter one: be paid for your work.”

Alfyn at least had the dignity to wait until they left the tailor’s to reply. “Prologue: have a legitimate job to begin with.”

It stung more than Therion expected it to. He wasn’t sure why he cared what Alfyn thought of his thievery, but given that the apothecary wouldn’t have enough to pay for meals if he was alone, he had expected, at worst, apathy.

"That's not it. I don't want t' get your hopes up if they don't have it, though, so let's find out if they do." Alfyn shrugged.

The smell of parchment and old tomes was obvious even before they stepped foot in the library, and Therion could only remember a few places in which he had felt less comfortable. He and Darius had stolen valuable books before, but though he knew how to, he had never enjoyed reading them. It was hard to ponder philosophy while starving.

Alfyn predictably took to the shelf filled with medicinal texts. Therion meandered about the warm, surprisingly expansive room, wondering if he would find a single book helpful to his profession. He scanned through only a single wall by the time Alfyn laid the book he was looking for on the librarian's desk.

"I know you'd rather if I returned it later, but I'd have to walk halfway across Orsterra," he admitted. "D'you think I could buy it instead?"

"Your accent is familiar. Are you from Clearbrook?" the librarian asked, and Alfyn nodded. "And you're an apothecary, too? I must ask, are you familiar with a young man named Zeph?"

Alfyn laughed. "Do I know 'im? I practically live with him!"

"Well, I'll be!" She clasped her hands together. "Please, take whichever tomes you like. But if it makes no difference to you, might I ask you to give a letter to him when you return home?"

"No problem! I'm sure he'll be happy to hear from you. Should I give you some time to pen the letter and come back later?

"That would be wonderful. Thank you ever so much."

Alfyn waved heartily, Therion sulking close behind him, as they left the library. Minutes later, he sat on the edge of a fountain to open the book.

"If you're just going to sit here reading and waiting for Tressa to arrive, tell me, so I can at least amuse myself chemically at the tavern," Therion sighed.

"I'm not. I have most of it memorized. This is for you," Alfyn replied.

"Why would I want your damn herb book?"

Alfyn closed the thick cover and held it up so Therion could read the title. "Because… you didn't want to rely on me for painkiller, or somethin' along those lines. And because I want you to trust me and the medicine I give you, and because it's a good skill to have if you're ever in a rough situation, and because it's a legally valid way to be paid, and because I think you'll be good at it. These are all real easy, and I'll help you whenever you want me to. Your painkiller's in here, in the second-last chapter, and I'll help you make it tonight, if you'll let me."

Therion hesitated, taking the tome and running his fingers over the embroidery in the spine. He didn't know how many times he could have benefitted from such a text, but it was no small number. How many times had he or Darius sought help from apothecaries who would not help a pair of feverish thieves? How many cuts and scrapes had become infected and scarred?

Under his cloak, he ran his bangled hand across his chest. He expected it, at this point, but could not help but compare the thin, raised scars to the threads spelling out _Beginner's Tonics_ on the tome.

"Yeah," he muttered. "I'll let you."

He read through the first chapter over a mug of apple cider at the tavern, letting Alfyn meander about, enjoying the scenery. He opted to leave when a scholar sat not too far from him, ordered tea, and succumbed to a long, harsh coughing fit. It was all too familiar.

He read the second chapter under candlelight that evening, as Simeon wrote and rewrote verses of poetry, Primrose read his works, and Alfyn studied another more advanced medical tome Therion did not recognize. He must have taken it from the library when he picked up the letter, Therion supposed.

He read the third chapter outdoors, shortly before noon. He doubted he would be able to enjoy spring once they left the city, and thus snuck into the gardens of the Royal Academy to read in peace amidst the flowers. He did not finish chapter four before being kicked out.

Tressa found him that afternoon reading chapter five on the outskirts of town, far from Royal Academy guards, and he decided he would never read again.

“What’s Alfyn drugged you with that made you so keen on learning all of a sudden?”

“Logical reasoning. Go on, continue talking about it. I doubt it’s hard to amputate a tongue,” he muttered ominously. "Don't you have a delivery to make to the library?"

"Sure do! Hey, why don't you take me there? You _definitely_ know where it is," she laughed.

The librarian, to Therion's dismay, recognized him right away. Without looking, he knew Tressa was smirking as she laid out the books for her.

"You came with Alfyn, didn't you?" asked the librarian- Mercedes, her name tag said.

"I don't see why it matters. He already took your letter, didn't he?"

She pursed her lips, sorting the books by author and writing their titles on small cards. "He did, yes. But pardon me for enjoying his company. True, this is a library, but it's been quiet here lately."

"If you want some company, I could stick around," Tressa offered. "My alternative is hanging out with _this_ guy, so."

Mercedes smiled and lifted the stack of books. "Care to help me shelve these, complete paperwork for each returned tome, and write letters to holders of overdue books?"

"Actually!" Tressa inched away from the desk. "I think I have some catching up to do with Alfyn and Primrose!"

"Don't run off just yet," Mercedes laughed. "Headmaster Yvon owes you, does he not?" She passed a note to Tressa, and the young merchant's eyes lit up upon seeing the sum at the bottom.

"Thank you!" she sang as she left.

Therion shifted, trying to read the spines of the books. "She looked happy. Are these expensive?"

Mercedes nodded. "Not all of them, but Professor Albright put in a special request for From The Far Reaches Of Hell. It was difficult to find even this abridged copy. Come to think of it, I ought to keep it in the back for him. He hasn't been around much lately."

Therion paused, contemplative. "I owe you a favour," he commented, pulling Beginner's Tonics from a pocket in his cloak to demonstrate why. "I could take it straight to him, if you'd like me to. I was thinking of checking out the Academy either way."

"That would be helpful," Mercedes admitted. "Very well. Professor Albright's office is on the fourth floor of the Academy. His name should be on the door. If you don't find him there, just return here, and I'll keep it safe for him."

He accepted the book, taking note of its gold title and the specks of blood along the edges of the pages. "No problem. See you."

Once he closed the door to the library, he tucked the book into his cloak and walked directly away from the Royal Academy.

Before he had the chance to read it, though, or, better yet, leave town so that Mercedes could not seek him out upon finding that Professor Albright was short one textbook, the others were already debating staying another night. Apparently Tressa had discussed the possibility of traveling north with them. Her parents had reluctantly given her permission to travel further than the next town. It was unfair, Alfyn informed him, to ask her to continue walking that evening without a proper rest.

Before saying anything on the matter, Therion scanned the inn room to ensure Simeon was occupied elsewhere. "Great. Start making plans to break me out of gaol again," he muttered. He supposed he would have to consider delivering the tome. But the sun was setting, he noted, and the Professor might have gone home for the night. "Should I teach you how to use lockpicks?

Alfyn crossed his arms. "No. You have no reason to steal now, so if you get caught, it's your own fault. C'mere."

Primrose raised her eyebrows with a judgemental glance, and Therion followed Alfyn, glaring back at her.

Alfyn led him through the stone walkways of the city, oddly silent. Therion had been expecting a lecture, but they merely meandered about, not following any path in particular. It was as though Alfyn was waiting for something.

"Excuse me, sir. You're an apothecary, aren't you?"

Therion shot him a grim scowl, piecing together his plan in a fraction of a second.

"Sure am! And this is my apprentice. How can we help ya?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Press + For Travel Banter  
> Cyrus: Young man  
> Cyrus: With the air of a crook, I said  
> Cyrus: Young man  
> Cyrus: No need to take my book


	32. Scholarly Pursuit

“I’m really not his apprentice,” Therion tried to explain to the young woman who requested their help. “I’m-”

What was he? He doubted it was wise to say he was a thief, a liar, an eavesdropper, a backstabber, a breaker of locks, an occasional arsonist, and a man no logical person should trust.

Maybe that was the point.

“I’m grateful for your assistance no matter what you are,” she replied. “I’m sorry to drag you to the Academy so late in the evening. But I would rather arrange for help than wait for Her Royal Highness to raise a scandal.”

“Royal piece of shit,” Therion muttered.

The woman seemed somewhat put off. “I only meant that Princess Mary is just as worried as I am about the professor, but that her complaints are seen as far more significant than mine. Perhaps I should find another apothecary…"

"I promise I'll do whatever I can to help," Alfyn assured. "That includes sendin' my apprentice back to the inn, if need be. What's wrong with your professor?"

She hesitated, but decided to answer. "Three days ago, he fainted in class," she timidly explained, drawing Alfyn's attention straight away. "We sent him home, as he was terribly feverish. We did not even speak to the Headmaster until later- rather, we found an apothecary to tend to him. But he returned to class the following day, assuring us he was alright. The coughing began yesterday, and today he had no voice at all, could scarcely breathe, and was forced to write the entire lecture in chalk." She opened one of the heavy, wooden doors to the Academy, permitting them entrance.

"He lives here?" Alfyn asked.

"No… He's supposed to teach a tutorial session tonight. Something tells me either his pride or the Headmaster would not permit him to miss it."

She led them up three long spiral staircases, tiring them both. Though they had started to heal, Therion was short of breath and clutching his ribs by the time they reached the top. He could not imagine climbing them with the cough he had suffered from two weeks prior. She knocked on the door to her professor's office, and Therion held his breath when he read the name.

"Professor Albright, are you here?"

Therion did not hear a voice, but there was movement within. The man who opened the door was thin and pallid, and Therion was sure he recognized him, but could not recall from where.

"My dear Therese!" he greeted with half a voice and a welcoming gesture. "What can I do for you?"

"You could sit down," she suggested. "I don't mean to cause you more strain than teaching clearly is."

There was a blanket draped over his chair and a pot of tea on his desk, but the professor was evidently hard at work even outside the classroom. A stack of books laid on the corner of his desk, with at least half a dozen more strewn about, open to pages that must have meant something to him, given that the ink of his notes was not yet dry. Candles, most of which were already worn down to puddles of wax from late-night study sessions, were lit around the room, giving it a gentle glow and slight warmth.

"I hear you've been feverish, coughin', and losin' your voice," Alfyn empathetically summarized. "So right off the bat, I'll tell ya I'd rather you be at home. But let's figure this out and get you some medicine, while we're at it."

"I'm afraid Therese has embellished the severity of my condition," the professor protested. "I do… appreciate the concern, but you are the second apothecary she has needlessly hired on my behalf."

"You didn't faint during your lecture?"

The professor shifted. "I… don't recall."

Alfyn gave him a knowing glance. "Mind if I listen to your breathing? Sounds like influenza, but I'll check for pneumonia and so on."

"Very well," he replied. "Just a moment-"

The coughs tore through his throat, leaving him little time to gasp for air, and seeing it made Therion's ribs ache. It was so painfully familiar that he moved his bangled hand over his chest to assure himself the dagger was not there.

"Don't waste your time." It was Therion's voice, but he felt disconnected from it, as though someone else was speaking. Therese raised her eyebrows, examining him with discontent, and Alfyn sighed as though he was about to explain something for the twentieth time. "Listen," he tried again, "this is the same thing I had. The Gaborran whooping cough. Check his temperature. It'll be normal."

Alfyn did not appear to believe him at first, but humoured him nevertheless. "It is," he admitted. "But that doesn't mean we can immediately discount every other-"

"The first apothecary you hired," Therion interrupted. "What did she look like? Taller than me, dark hair with bangs, icy eyes with long lashes, a satchel sitting on her left hip, an apron hanging from her belt, tall boots, a corset, and a cloak over her shoulders? And the cure she gave you- thick, green, and bitter, with a pine scent." It became easier the more he described her, and by the end, it was more of a statement than a question. He knew it must be her.

"You got one hell of a memory," Alfyn observed.

"And not one detail incorrect," the professor affirmed, impressed. "You would do quite well in my classes."

Therion turned to Therese. "Where did you find her? I have a bit of unfinished business."

Her gaze lowered, and he quickly realized she had noticed the dagger sheathed on his thigh. "If you're intending to kill her… I mean, you haven't even told us what she's done."

"She's attempting to kill your teacher," he snapped back. "He might have had the flu before, but the cure she's distributing induces a fatal whooping cough. And Albright here is far from the first of her victims. You three," he ordered, "are going to head down to the library and research alternative cures, in case we can't get our hands on more of that glowworm moss. I'm going to find Primrose and Simeon, and deal with Vanessa."

"Excellent." The professor smothered a cough and cleared his throat. "I've been meaning to drop by the library to pick up a certain tome either way. Mercedes-"

"Mercedes told me to give this to you." He dropped the tome in the professor's hands. "I'll meet you in the library in a couple hours."

Alfyn's arms were crossed and his gaze was focused on an open page in a tome Therion was certain he was not reading. He looked like he wanted to object, but did not say anything.

"You wanted to speak to Vanessa yourself," Therion pieced together.

Alfyn shrugged. "Not… exactly." Therion understood immediately. "Besides. It's more important for me to keep an eye on my patient. But do me a favour. Don't kill her."

"I won't," Therion assured, glancing back. "But I can't promise anything on Primrose's or Simeon's behalf."

He correctly assumed they were together in the inn, and knocked rather than unlocking the door to ensure he would not walk in on anything private. His second assumption, however, was entirely false. Tressa opened the door, grinning, and invited him to play the next round of cards with them.

"Your next game will have to be Solitaire," he replied. "But trust me. You'll enjoy that more than coming with us." He gestured with one finger for the other two to follow him. "I'll explain soon."

"I hope you shall," Simeon replied. "I was about to win."

They followed him in silence until they stepped outside. Primrose stopped walking, her eyes demanding an explanation. Therion exhaled and crossed his arms in his sling.

"It's a little impossible for me to restrain someone, so you two are going to do it. I'm just going to help you find her."

"Her?"

"Vanessa." There was venom in his tone as he spat out her name. "Alfyn's busy treating her latest patient. I don't know if there are more. But she's going to keep doing this until we stop her for real."

Fury flashed across Primrose's face, and her fingers wrapped around the hilt of her dagger. It stirred Therion's memory. He rifled through the pockets of his cloak, then pressed a more stable wooden handle into the palm of her hand.

"I meant to give it to you… back in Wellspring, I guess. Do what you like with it. I won't tell you to stab Vanessa. I also won't tell you not to."

The fire in her eyes softened to a grateful ember. "Thank you. I had forgotten."

"I doubt we will have need for weaponry," Simeon calmly spoke. "I am, after all, well-versed in dark magic. I prefer not to use it, but if the situation is as dire as your tone   
implies…" He closed his eyes momentarily. "But I must have missed something. Who is Vanessa?"

Primrose explained the apothecary’s actions in Goldshore as they walked, and Therion occasionally added details she missed. He was more focused on finding Vanessa, however, and once he realized Therese had never actually told him where she found her, he reluctantly trailed back towards the academy. She and Professor Albright would be in the library; if they were not, they were either easily distracted idiots or had gotten into a grave situation within twenty minutes. He would accept no other excuse.

But he noticed a figure standing just outside the provisioner’s, buying medicinal herbs. Alfyn had stopped there the previous day before they went to buy winter clothing. It was very possible there were other apothecaries in Atlasdam, as it was the largest city in Orsterra, but her cloak and boots were familiar.

He made chase, and the moment she noticed him, she dropped the herbs she was buying and ran.

He was able to forget about the cast around his ankle, which had slowed him to a snail’s pace a month before. He was as fast as he had ever been, and Primrose lagged only a moment behind him. He could feel the ache in his ribs asserting its presence, and knew how much worse it would become when he stopped running, but refused to acknowledge it, either.

Pursuing Vanessa led them in the direction of the Royal Academy, which struck him as odd. It was not difficult to imagine her going inside to deceive Professor Albright, but it was most certainly not the time to do so. His distraction almost caused him to miss her sharp turn to the right, down a small flight of stairs, and then left into a passageway under the Academy.

It was dark, but he could still hear her footsteps. His eyes gradually adjusted to the low light, allowing him at least to see the walkway, but even then, it was necessary to slow down. It was damp and difficult to see where one might fall if they lost their footing, and he was not about to risk doing _that_.

He was expecting the surge of pain from his ribs that came as he started breathing more heavily, but it was nevertheless overwhelming enough that he stopped walking altogether.

"Therion?" Primrose whispered.

"Go," he insisted. "Keep going. We'll lose her." He coughed, a dry, weak imitation of two weeks prior. "Is Simeon-"

"I'm here."

His eyes were blurry from exertion, and even neglecting that, it was only possible to discern their silhouettes. But he could tell from their voices that they were nowhere near as worn out as he was. Simeon sounded out of breath, and Primrose was leaning on one ankle, but Therion was lightheaded and unable to inhale completely without worsening the pain in his ribs.

"Stay together," he ordered. “I’ll be right behind you.”

“I am not leaving you here,” Primrose replied. “Even if there is another exit from this passage, this is not our sole opportunity to find Vanessa. Catching up is certainly not worth abandoning you. So take a moment and breathe. If there is another exit, she has already escaped, and if there is not, it will be absolutely inconsequential.”

Therion nodded and rubbed his eyes with his knuckles. Strange- why was he tearing up? He took a deep breath as Primrose bade him, then another, never as deeply as he would have liked. Gradually, his vision cleared, and though his ribs hurt like hell, he no longer felt like he was being choked.

He had been in similar situations before. But it would never have been possible to slow down to breathe, because he had almost exclusively been the one being chased. And he had almost always been alone. Darius tended to split onto a different path, or slow down to ensure Therion got away.

He looked up, and Primrose and Simeon were patiently standing before him.

"I'm ready," he whispered. "Are you?"


	33. Taste of Her Own Medicine

Vanessa, it turned out, had backed herself into a corner. The path under the Academy was not as complex as she might have hoped, and she did not have the opportunity to get past all three of them. But she was prepared by the time they found her, with a lit candle in one hand and an empty flask in the other. A presumably flammable concoction stained the floor of the cave, drawing a wide line between her and the others. A full set of bottles lay within reach on a desk beside her.

“You’ve come to kill me, haven’t you?” She laughed, timid and afraid. “Alfyn would have come along if you had any other intention.”

"Alfyn's looking for cures to the Gaborran whooping cough," Therion replied. "It just so happens we're pretty far away from the Caves of Azure, so unless you have some glowworm moss on you…"

"I do. I was just buying a few other crucial ingredients." She stepped backwards. "Lay down your weapons. I haven't made the tonic yet, and the moss on its own won't do a damn thing. If you kill me, you are killing everyone who needs it."

Something seemed wrong. "Alfyn would be able to-"

"Alfyn never saw me make it." A sly smile crossed Vanessa's face. "Oh, Therion, you have no idea! Your little fall was so convenient. Alfyn never left your side longer than a few minutes. He knows the ingredients, but has no idea how to prepare the tonic."

_Convenient._ Therion clenched his jaw and clutched the handle of his dagger tightly. He knew the consequences, but he was overwhelmed with the desire to shove the blade between her ribs, rip it out, and stab it back in, again and again. Primrose, likewise, had tight fists against her sides, digging her nails into her palms.

"Therion stopped breathing," she seethed. "If you would not have done the same thing as Alfyn, not only do you have no right to call yourself an apothecary, you have no right to call yourself a human being."

"If I had done the same as Alfyn," Vanessa countered, "it would be negligence and manslaughter. To perform CPR is no issue, but to watch over a single recovering patient for days at a time, sleeping little and ignoring the rest of my patients? Oh, honey. If Alfyn had been the only apothecary in town, a dozen or more people would have died while he watched over this useless thief."

Therion clenched his jaw and refrained from lunging forward, but Vanessa noticed the fury in his eyes and dropped the candle. The concoction she spilt on the ground erupted in flames, creating a blinding barrier between them. Simeon pulled both Therion and Primrose back, and only then did Therion notice that the flames had caught his cloak. In a moment of panic, he tore his arm from his sling and smothered it with his forearms, wincing at the heat.

The chain dangling from his wrist clattered, and Therion dared to glance upwards. Simeon's gaze was distrusting and disappointed. Although he had eaten, something that felt like starvation twisted his insides.

Primrose was startlingly close to the waist-high wall of fire, and Therion began to suspect she was going to dash through it, stab Vanessa, and deal with the inevitable burns at a later time. She glowed orange and flickered yellow, but her eyes were narrow and dark.

"If Alfyn had been the only apothecary in town, no one would have been at risk of death in the first place. Forget manslaughter! You're a murderer, Hysel! Do you even understand that?"

She screamed in fury and threw her dagger through the flames in Vanessa's direction. She missed by several feet, and Vanessa laughed, once again with a touch of fear in her tone.

Therion unsheathed his dagger, keeping his eyes on his enemy, but turning the blade over in his hands. Primrose had no experience in throwing them, but Therion knew only one person more accurate than he was. He could hit Vanessa, if he tried to, and even if he missed as well, Primrose's House Azelhart dagger was still sheathed against her thigh. With two attempts, he had no doubt whatsoever he could hit.

But if Alfyn did not find the recipe for the glowworm moss tonic, the professor and every other whooping cough patient in Atlasdam would die.

"Now, if I understand correctly," Simeon spoke, strangely relaxed. "Her tonic gave you a fever, did it not?"

It took a moment for Therion to respond. His tone and posture were entirely unexpected. Simeon was not the most emotional man, but Therion had expected to see at least a tenth of the anger Primrose was radiating.

"That's not it. I took her tonic because I had a fever," Therion muttered. "Is this _really_ the time?"

Simeon nodded. "I would not ask if it was unimportant." Closing his eyes for a moment, Simeon mouthed something Therion could not hear. "You were exhausted, of course. Perhaps you had a migraine. And I would expect you either felt frozen to the core or scorched through. Please, correct me if I am wrong."

"It was… cold," Therion confirmed. Seeing Vanessa approaching him from the other side of the wall of fire, he stepped back. "Wh…"

"Her concoction, then," Simeon interrupted. "The tonic that gave you the Gaborran whooping cough. You were having difficulty breathing, were you not? Was it your throat or your chest that hurt?"

"Both. Chest, mostly." No sooner had he said it than the rough sound of coughing began echoing through the cave. Vanessa gasped, ragged and scraping against her throat, and Therion understood exactly what Simeon was doing. For a brief moment, he was filled with a sick sort of satisfaction.

"Your ribs were broken shortly after you took the tonic," Simeon continued, intensely focused. He gazed into Vanessa's pleading eyes with a narrow, intense glare.

A quiet and entirely horrible sound came from her direction. There was a crack, then the grating scrape of bone against bone. He was not only fracturing her ribs. He was breaking them clean in half. Vanessa clutched her chest and screamed, but Simeon was not finished after one. He continued with the same rib on the other side, then moved upwards. The screaming grew louder, punctuated with dry coughing and terrible gasps, and Therion knew she could not fill her lungs no matter how hard she tried.

He watched in horror and awe, and could not say a word.

Vanessa fell to one knee, both arms still tightly wrapped around her chest, then dropped onto both knees, holding herself up with her palms. At no point did she stop coughing long enough to take a complete breath. Therion soon realized she was hyperventilating, and despite the warm glow of the fire, was pale as though she was about to pass out.

"Stop," Therion ordered, and it came out far more afraid than he wanted it to sound. "Simeon. Stop. This is too far. She- she doesn't… deserve this."

The tension in the air diminished, like relaxing one’s muscles. Simeon diverted his gaze, looking anywhere but at Vanessa. Primrose was further away from the playwright than Therion remembered her being, looking stunned and horrified at what he had done.

There was a moment of silence. Eyes wide, Vanessa carefully and slowly inhaled, no more than halfway, afraid anything at all could provoke her coughing to resume.

It lasted long enough that it seemed Simeon had relinquished the curse he had placed on her. But it couldn't be. Simeon had not said a word, and Therion had not heard the scrape of ribs moving back into place.

"Simeon…" his voice wavered. "You do know… how to reverse this. Right…?"

The seconds before he received an answer were agonizing, but the answer itself was worse.

"One would require a cleric. Dark magic is repelled by the light."

Vanessa sucked in half a ragged gasp of air and started coughing again.

"You're telling me only the Gods can save her?"

Simeon stepped back when Therion raised his dagger. “Were you not intending to kill her? Death is no more reversible than magic, I assure you.”

“Not like _this_!” Therion lingered for a moment, then released his grip on the knife, letting it clatter to the ground. It would only make things worse if he left two corpses in his wake. “Simeon. Get the hell away from her. Primrose…” he exhaled sharply. “Bring Alfyn. Quickly.”

Realization struck Primrose’s expression, and she nodded and started running along the path whence they came. Therion immediately regretted the command. He was asking to be left alone with Simeon and Vanessa, and could no longer tell of whom he was more afraid.

“Alfyn’s healing will be… ineffective,” Simeon quietly commented.

“You’ve made that painstakingly clear,” Therion snapped. He closed his eyes, trying to calm down. “He’ll want to bid her goodbye and give her some strong painkiller. Let her go easily. I don’t know what’s fucking _wrong_ with you, wanting to torture her like this… Leaving someone broken and dying to suffer and wait for their end is far worse than just killing them.”

He had come to _that_ conclusion long ago.

Simeon at least had the decency not to debate it, standing quietly with his back against the wall of the cave. The fire was beginning to die down as the concoction was consumed, giving Therion a clearer view of Vanessa. He did not like what he saw. Blood stained the ground before her. If her condition was already bad enough that she was coughing up blood, a sharp edge of a snapped rib might have punctured her lung.

Even if it was not brought about by dark magic, Therion did not think Alfyn could fix that.

"Vanessa," he spoke, feeling bile rise in his throat and swallowing it. "How… much does it hurt? Do you want me to… you know, end it? It would be faster than waiting for Alfyn…" he hesitantly offered. "Just… raise one of your hands if you want me to."

For a while, she breathed shakily, trying not to move. Then she lifted one hand and wiped blood, saliva, and lipstick from her mouth, leaving a crimson smear across her cheek.

“...That a yes?”

Therion picked up his dagger, but sheathed it in favour of his short sword. Holding his breath, he knelt close to the flames, feeling them lick his skin with minor burns, then rolled quickly though them. Safely on the other side, he patted down his clothing to ensure he was not still on fire.

“If you’re sure about this, lie on your back. It’ll give a clean shot to your heart, so it doesn’t last any longer than it has to.”

It looked as though Vanessa’s right arm crumpled beneath her, but it was a purposeful action. She shoved the ground with her left hand, turning her onto her back. The change in position made her lungs seize, and this time the saliva and blood had nowhere to go but back into her throat. Therion’s heart contorted in empathy as she choked, but he nevertheless poked the top of his sword into her chest, finding the right spot.

“Ready?”

He shoved the blade downwards with as much force as he could muster, piercing it through her body and into the ground. Blood spilled immediately from the wound, and her arms fell limp.

He slowly covered his mouth with one hand, tasting acid once again.

He tugged the blade from her chest a lot more slowly than he had inserted it.

And he heard footsteps pounding against the path, running towards him.

“Therion!” Alfyn cried, breathless from the exertion. “I’m here. How’s Vanessa doing?”

Therion could not bring himself to look Alfyn in the eye. “...She isn’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's important to have your partner's consent when you murder them


	34. Ashes, Ashes

No one dared say a word as Alfyn knelt down beside Vanessa’s corpse. He held two fingers to her neck to verify that she had no pulse, then folded his hands together and tilted his head forward. It took Therion a moment to realize Alfyn was praying.

When was the last time he saw someone pray for anything other than mercy?

It was brief. Alfyn merely asked the gods to forgive her, then, as an afterthought, to forgive them. Therion did not fail to notice that Alfyn glanced at him as he stood up. He was already conflicted and nauseous, but the silent gaze cut deeper than anything.

“I ain't seen the whole city, of course.” Alfyn’s voice was hollow. He rubbed the back of his wrist against his eye. “Did you guys see any burial grounds?”

Therion pulled back and swallowed hard. “We can’t take her out of this cave. Gods, Alfyn, it’s already suspicious enough that we’re in here. People are going to see us come out, or already saw us come in, and will want to know what we were doing in here. Never mind that I've got her blood all over my clothes. You can’t just… exit a cave carrying a dead body.”

Alfyn sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. “Guess you’re right… I just hate that we can’t let her go properly, you know?"

"You got any better ideas?”

Alfyn looked down, and Primrose crossed her arms. Simeon picked up the candle that Vanessa had used to light the extinguished fire, and set it on the desk.

"Shall we cremate her?" He glanced in Therion's direction. "Before you reply, consider that it would remove a lot of the evidence that she was slain by your hand."

Therion clenched his teeth and refrained from speaking. There was nothing he could say to convince them he had not stabbed Vanessa; they had seen him do it. He could point fingers at Simeon, but the cremation would speak for him. When nothing remained but bone, Alfyn would see for himself that her ribs were snapped into pieces.

Simeon took the lack of objection as approval, and lit the candle using one of Vanessa's matches. He knelt down to light her clothes ablaze, but hesitated for a moment. "Perhaps we should use her incendiary concoction. Her dress shall burn, but I am not sure if flesh is flammable."

"I got it." Alfyn stood up, skimming over the labels and locating an appropriate flask. He examined it for a moment, then handed it to Simeon. "This should do the trick."

“You do not wish to do the honours?”

Alfyn shook his head and crossed his arms defensively. “I don’t think I could.”

A pungent, sour smell emanated from the flask as soon as Simeon opened it. It was distinct from the sickly sweet scent of the potion she had used, but it masked the smell of blood and distracted from the thought that they might be able to see through the hole in her chest. Unflinching, Simeon doused her every limb and splashed the last bit of tonic down her face and neck.

"Stand back."

Simeon took three steps away from Vanessa, then tossed the candle towards her. She erupted in flame. The smell of burning hair and cotton quickly overpowered the acidic vapours of the concoction without making the sour scent any weaker. Primrose pressed a hand against her mouth, pale even in the glow of the flames. Therion's nausea, too, made itself known.

"You were right, Therion," Alfyn weakly spoke, "we've gotta get out of here."

The smoke was beginning to cloud his vision, and Therion held both his mouth and his ribs tightly as he coughed. He wanted to agree. He could hardly breathe. But if Alfyn did not see the state of Vanessa's ribs…

"Wait."

It was Primrose. In a swift motion, she opened Vanessa's cupboard. "She said there was still glowworm moss here. Alfyn, you need to take as much of this as you can. Quickly, before it burns as well."

Alfyn rushed to dig through her cupboards. "Gotcha. But Professor Albright should only need-"

"She said there were others," Primrose interrupted. "I don't know how many. Take all of it- we can't go all the way back to Goldshore to get more."

"She's right," Therion realized. Moments later, as Alfyn stood up, the implications sunk in. "Shit, Alfyn. You're going to have to treat them. There's no one else who knows what she's been doing, who has the means and the knowledge to do something about it. Which means…"

Primrose's eyes widened, then locked on his. "He's going to have to stay here."

"Yeah. I can't just let people die," Alfyn affirmed. He hesitated, shifted awkwardly, and stepped away from the fire, clutching a bag full of moss to his chest. The slight bioluminescence coloured his neck blue. "But you three… you can't really stay here, can you."

It wasn't a question. Alfyn's gaze sunk, fixing on the blood staining Therion's dirty, once-white shirt, clashing with his violet cloak, and forming barely-visible spots on his dark, threadbare pants.

"I'll be damned if you can even walk back to the inn to gather your coat safely."

"I'll be damned either way." Therion pulled off his cloak, walking slowly away from Vanessa. "I don't have any other clothes. Even if I somehow manage to get my coat and leave town, I doubt the saintly folk of Flamesgrace would tolerate such an obvious…" Therion's breath caught in his throat.

"Murderer," Simeon finished.

"Thanks," Therion snapped back. "Really needed that."

He could feel Alfyn's gaze, but dared not look him in the eye. After swearing he would not kill her, even his lack of comment burnt deeper than the flames he had rolled through to approach her. 

He tore the loosely hanging sling from his neck, feeling heat beneath his eyelids. His hands shook as he unbuttoned his shirt, making the chain on his right wrist clatter. He balled the bloody clothing together, approached the flames, then hesitated just long enough to feel a hand on his shoulder.

"Stop. I'll get the blood out. And I will bring all our winter clothing," Primrose whispered. "Stay here with Simeon. We will leave to Flamesgrace, fully clothed, immediately when I return."

"You'll… how do you intend to…" Therion choked on his words.

Primrose smirked unexpectedly. "I am a woman, and you have known me longer than a month. You should already know I am skilled and subtle with such things."

Despite everything, Therion managed a broken chuckle. It was true- not one of them knew when Primrose had bled. “Works for me.” He stepped back and handed over his clothing.

She folded his cloak around it all, ensuring the visible cloth was mostly clean. “Alfyn, you’ll accompany me to the inn, won’t you? I would guess you’d make the medicine in our room.”

Remembering Vanessa’s claim, Therion hesitantly cut in. “You do know how to make it, right?”

Alfyn nodded. “Found the instructions in the library. The moss was the only ingredient I didn’t have, so I can make it right away. I'd best get going.”

Glancing back to Vanessa's burning body, Therion realized just how long it would take to expose bone. It was not worth asking Alfyn to wait. But the apothecary lingered just a bit longer than Therion expected, and set a hand on Therion's shoulder, making him flinch.

"Am I ever gonna see you again?"

It wasn't what he expected to hear. Therion wanted to say something, but couldn't find the words.

"Therion? Hey." Alfyn turned his shoulder so Therion would face him- always the right shoulder, always far more gently than a _murderer_ deserved. "I understand why you did it, okay? Prim told me. I'd have had to give her a lethal injection if you hadn't already killed her. And…" he sucked in a deep breath. "I'm kind of grateful I didn't have to. When I asked you not to kill her… that was before I knew she'd overdosed on her own medicine by the time you got here."

Behind Alfyn, Primrose stared into the depths of the cave, biting her lower lip, her arms loosely crossed around her abdomen. Therion closed his eyes. She still wanted to protect Simeon.

"Okay," Therion finally voiced. "Then… yeah. We'll wait for you. In Flamesgrace."

Alfyn smiled sadly. "I'll meet you as soon as everyone's got medicine."

Therion nodded. "Then go cure them, herb boy." He shoved Alfyn lightly towards the entrance of the cave, sparking the first real laugh he'd heard from the apothecary. "I'll see you later."


	35. Cold Shoulder

If Primrose had not gone to the inn to retrieve their coats, Therion mused as they trekked through the Frostlands, they would all already have frostbite. Between them, he probably had it best, with his cloak draped over his shoulders and his scarf wrapped around his head and neck. Simeon had already been forced to grant Primrose the vest he wore under his jacket, so she might warm her ears or hands.

His sorry excuse for boots, on the other hand, had been soaked through since they started walking through the snow. Warming them by the fire they crowded around that night had only helped temporarily.

He wasn't a particular fan of the cold, heavy bangle around his wrist, either. He had taken to stuffing the edge of his cloak beneath the bangle to ease the sting of frozen metal on his skin.

Primrose occasionally offered sympathetic glances when he adjusted the material, but he wasn't especially jealous of her situation, either. Her dress reached her ankles, and her coat nearly so, but that meant only that she dragged snow around the edge of her skirt wherever she walked, and did not have much of anything insulating her legs. He was at least wearing pants.

Their lack of food made the situation worse as well. They had slept- tolerably, Therion supposed, in a small sheltered area, burning branches from nearby evergreens, but had neither found supper nor breakfast. None of them spoke of it, but it seemed to bother Simeon far more than Therion or Primrose, and that alone told Therion more than enough about Primrose's life in Sunshade to make him angry.

Actually, all three of them had been rather quiet the whole trip. It was almost lonely not to have Alfyn or Tressa talking his ear off. He wondered if cold weather would shut them up too. Alfyn might know how to make a warming tonic, but Therion was sure at least Tressa would be dragging her feet and making occasional complaints. Hell, even Primrose seemed tired.

She stumbled a bit, but continued walking. And while it wasn't so strange that Primrose would act as though nothing was bothering her, Therion had never seen her look… clumsy.

"Hey," Therion said, breaking the silence. "We've been walking for hours. Let's take a break."

Simeon nodded, but unsurprisingly, Primrose was hesitant. "I'm sure we could make it a bit further."

Therion crossed his arms. "I'm starving and cold," he muttered, "and my ribs hurt. Sit down for one gods-forsaken minute and drink some water, or continue without me. Your choice."

They were at least granted an endless supply of water, so long as they remained warm enough to melt it in their palms. Therion was more thirsty than he had realized- perhaps he needed this break, too- but as Primrose cupped her hands to her lips, he realized her hands were shaking.

“You look cold.”

She scoffed. “Aren’t we all? Perhaps if we kept moving, we would stay warm.”

He did not reply for a few seconds. “Your corset’s too tight, isn’t it? Making it harder to breathe.”

Primrose sighed. “Perhaps a bit.”

“Allow me, my lady.”

Simeon took her hand to help her stand, then smoothly unbuttoned her coat. He slipped his arms under hers, embracing her under the warm material, and without even seeing them, untied the ribbons laced across her back. Primrose rested her head on his shoulder, then pressed a gentle kiss to the scarf around his neck. Simeon chuckled.

“Perhaps when we get to an inn.”

He tugged each loop of ribbon to loosen it, then tied the bow at the base of her hips once more. She took a deep breath as he fastened up her coat.

“That’s much better. Thank you.”

They both seemed more alive for the next hour or so. Therion was content not to pay them any attention whatsoever- they paid each other enough attention already.

Still, questions he dared not ask weighed heavily on his mind. He could not describe his feelings towards Primrose, but knew they had not changed since Vanessa’s death. But he was terrified of Simeon's apparent power and moral compass. If he felt guilty, Therion could not tell. His expression was unreadable most of the time, and his occasional narrowed eyes and slight smiles suggested he could not care less.

“You called me a murderer,” he found himself saying, and cursed his tongue for permitting it. Simeon was dangerous- he could break him irreparably and leave him more than a day’s walk away from the nearest town, and Primrose was likely not to say a word about it.

But Simeon glanced towards him, calm as ever, and smiled.

“Was it someone else driving a dagger into Vanessa’s breast? As far as I am concerned, her heart was beating before you were involved, and had stopped by the time you finished with her.”

“She would have died either way. I offered to spare her from the torture you inflicted, and she agreed. I didn’t murder her. I assisted with her suicide.”

“Boys…” Primrose’s voice was shaky and hesitant. Perhaps she was afraid of both of them. “Shall we continue the discussion when we reach Flamesgrace? I… fear we may not all make it there if you continue.”

She was keeping her distance from both of them, shivering with her hands tucked under her arms. And she had every right to, Therion thought, but it would not protect her from dark magic, an airborne dagger, or even the cold. There was nothing she could do but delay the conversation.

Therion didn't speak again for a long while. None of them did.

It was evening when Simeon finally broke the silence.

“Lady Primrose?”

She had lost her footing once again. There was a dazed look in her eyes for a moment, but she found her bearings and quickly replied. "There must have been a patch of ice. I should have been paying more attention."

"Is that sprain still bothering you?" Therion cut in.

She shifted, testing each ankle. "It's been more than two weeks, Therion. It doesn't hurt anymore. I suppose it's a bit weaker than the other one, but barely."

Therion exchanged a glance with Simeon, belatedly realizing it was no longer with anger. If it was only her sprain, he would be able to stop worrying about the alternative. "I… need to check something. Sit down for a bit, rest your legs."

It must have been eight years prior that Darius had told him of Northreach for the first time. It was a criminal's heaven, Darius had described, where the guard turned a blind eye to _tea leaves_ like them. So long as they avoided the other thieves there, they could make off with countless riches, and no one would bat their _pathetic minces_.

They hadn't made it to Northreach. Therion did not remember much more than drifting in and out of consciousness near Stillsnow, waking up at some point by the fireplace in its tavern, and hearing Darius swear and point a knife at the barkeep for refusing to let them- _him_ \- stay the night indoors. It had taken more than a week for him to recover from his hypothermia, as he was carried back and forth between the hot tavern and the snowbank they were forced to sleep in, as they lacked the coin to stay in the inn.

He opened Beginner's Tonics.

_...cold exposure, intoxication, or low blood sugar may lead to…_

_...in mild cases, symptoms may include shivering, drowsiness, lack of coordination, confusion…_

Therion inhaled deeply, hopelessly. At least it still seemed it was mild. "Primrose, when was the last time you ate?"

"I… don't recall."

He slowly closed the book. She should have known. "Two days ago. Before… you know." He looked down. "Simeon, are your hands warm enough to judge temperatures? Mine sure as hell aren't," he laughed humorlessly.

Simeon stood up. "I would not count on it."

"Then they'd better be warm enough to fell wood for another fire. We're not continuing any further tonight. Until and unless we can prove otherwise, we’ll have to proceed under the assumption that she has hypothermia.”

They found a ledge and rested at its base, shielded from above by the lower branches of a massive conifer. As soon as Therion had the fire burning (Vanessa’s matches had become one of his most closely-guarded possessions), Simeon unbuttoned Primrose’s coat once again and held her closely to share in his warmth. She clung tightly to him, exhausted and closing her eyes.

He remembered slipping his hands under Darius’ cloak, preferring the warmth of his skin over the rough cotton laced with frost, and settling into his embrace. He remembered Darius caressing his forehead and massaging his shoulders. He remembered falling asleep to his heartbeat. And he remembered it fondly. Bitterness seeped into the edges, he supposed, but it was, on the whole, sweet.

Primrose so reminded him of himself.

“What are we going to do?” Therion found himself muttering. “My shoulder is still out, so I can’t carry much of anything, and there’s no way in hell you could carry her the whole way. I have instructions for how to treat her, but-” he laughed- “I don’t see any herbs around here. And you’re perfectly capable of dark magic, but I hear that’s not _ideal_ for healing people.”

Simeon closed his eyes for a moment, contemplative. “It’s really not ideal, is it?”

“No shit,” Therion scoffed.

They were quiet for a moment longer. “But it might not be useless.”

This startled Therion, but he opted not to say a word until Simeon explained further.

“I do not expect you’ll approve, and justly so; I cannot simply cure it, and if her hypothermia is mild, it should not be necessary. But should it worsen… I can raise her temperature. You will recall I did exactly that to Vanessa." Primrose shifted in his arms. "Of course, it would be nowhere near the same. I have no ill will towards Primrose, and would not give her nearly as high a fever as I gave Vanessa. It would be as low as I could make it, such that she might make it to Flamesgrace as painlessly as possible."

Therion let him finish speaking, but inwardly dismissed the idea the moment Simeon mentioned it was the same thing he had done to Vanessa. Logically, he knew he would not lay a finger on Primrose's breathing, but the image of Vanessa coughing so hard she spit blood filled his subconscious. Besides… "I recall you saying dark magic is irreversible."

"You misunderstood, then. It is true that such a fever would maintain a consistent temperature, but this would only make her condition easier to control. But in regards to your actual concern... I did tell you that a cleric would be able to undo any of my curses- quite easily, in fact," Simeon mused. "Flamesgrace is known for its cathedral. I doubt we would have any difficulty whatsoever asking one of the clerics therein to heal her." His fingers stroked Primrose's forehead and brushed her bangs behind her ears. "Therion, have you ever loved someone? The sensation is… all-encompassing. It toys with one's morals. It might will you to steal on behalf of the one you love, or kill to protect them. Think of this no differently. I may be harnessing the powers of the Dark God, but if it is necessary to protect her, I believe it… softens the connotations."

_Therion!_

_Therion, gods, stay with me._

_Fuck, you're cold…_

_I'm here._

_And I'm gonna do whatever it takes to warm ye back up._

With his knees to his chest and his arms crossed, Therion found he was clutching hard to the inner folds of his cloak. The fire kept him warm enough, licked at his shoes if he stuck his feet too close, but the ghost of a memory held him tight and surpassed its warmth by leagues. He sunk into its arms and his back hit the rocky ledge. It wasn't real. Darius had left him to die a long time ago.

An icy wind blew past them, cutting to Therion's core.

"Alright," he muttered. "If it'll help, do it."

He watched Simeon whisper the curse, intense concentration evident in his eyes, and saw Primrose's expression and posture change. She did not seem to be in pain, but the drastic and immediate shift in temperature drained her, leaving her pale. She never let go of Simeon, and seemed to be holding him ever tighter by the time he had finished.

"She will be alright," Simeon whispered. Therion nodded, unsure if he believed it. "We should rest as well."

Slowly lying down with his back to the ledge, Therion realized he could not definitively say Simeon had not also caused her hypothermia.


	36. Bishop To H7

The inn was closed. Given how long they had been walking, it must have been nearing sunrise, so Therion did not blame the innkeeper for retiring for the night. Still, it left him with the burden of finding somewhere indoors to sleep. They were all exhausted. Primrose was especially drained, clutching Simeon's arm and lying her head on his shoulder. But despite her fatigue and headache, Therion reminded himself, she had been capable of walking the remaining distance to Flamesgrace. Simeon had been correct: her condition had not changed in the slightest since he placed the curse upon her.

Therion toyed with his lockpicks under his cloak, debating unlocking the inn, or the tavern, or any other predictably secured building in which they might manage to catch a few hours of sleep. Ultimately, he decided against it, easy though it would be. They would be woken and thrown outside as soon as they were found.

"I wonder if the cathedral is open at this hour," Simeon voiced. "We would need to find a cleric to heal Primrose either way. Some churches offer residence to the homeless, and given that my home is far from here, Lady Primrose has not lived in hers for about a decade, and you…" Simeon paused. "I suppose I do not know about you."

Therion shrugged, scanning his surroundings for a path towards the cathedral. It was massive, towering over most of the buildings and visible from nearly everywhere they had yet traveled within the city. Flamesgrace, he recalled, revered Aelfric, bringer of the Sacred Flame- a fact its architecture made difficult to forget. Even neglecting the cathedral looming above them, homes and businesses were humble in size and decoration, and the lanterns lighting the street corners and stairways, presumably lit by Aelfric's Lanthorn, glowed a striking cyan.

It was not a flattering look on his companions. While it made Simeon look sickly, it blended with the flush on Primrose's cheeks to make them appear bruised.

"Therion?"

He looked down at his footprints in the snow. "There’s nothing to know.”

They walked to the cathedral in silence, lingering close to the lanterns when they could. Their heat was negligible in passing, but in the chill of nighttime and after so long traveling through the snowy landscape, any warmth was welcome. As they hoped, the doors to the cathedral were unlocked. Therion held the door open so Simeon could help Primrose inside, then entered, left foot first, more nervous than he expected. Logic dictated the doors would have been locked if visitors were unwelcome, but Therion nevertheless felt it was a place he ought not be.

The Gods had never liked him, after all.

They gravitated towards the Sacred Flame at the heart of the church, basking in its glow and removing their outer, snow-covered layers. It was oddly tempting to reach into the flames, as though they contained some answer Therion had been searching for for ages. He gazed into the heart of the fire, but did not see any wood or fuel source maintaining it. Perhaps Aelfric truly did keep it burning.

“I thought I heard someone.”

Therion whipped around, drawing his dagger. The cleric who approached them gasped, raised her hands, and stepped backwards into a pew. She was small- smaller than him, even- and wearing only a nightgown and slippers. He lowered his blade. “Sorry. I thought-”

What had he thought? It was a reflex- he hadn’t been thinking at all.

“I understand. You are instinctively defensive. My sister used to be the same way. I didn’t mean to startle you,” she apologized. Therion did not reply for a few seconds, so she awkwardly continued. “You all look terribly cold. Please, enjoy Aelfric’s warmth as long as you like. It will not burn you: only Aelfric's Lanthorn can set anything else afire. If you give me a moment, I can prepare beds for you. I presume you have nowhere else to sleep."

Still, he opted not to say anything. She was too welcoming, too kind and earnest and trusting for someone who had just happened upon them in her abode in the middle of the night. He didn't trust her. Fortunately, Simeon found the words he didn't.

"That would be correct. The inn, sadly, is closed at this hour. I hope we did not wake you."

"No worries," she replied, but Therion could see her shoulders sag and her eyes dart elsewhere. "I… haven't been able to sleep much of late, anyhow."

They followed her back towards the entrance, then down a hallway. Even at night, the lanterns on every wall kept the cathedral bright. The guest room was up a flight of stairs. It was massive, containing three rows of cots with enough space for two people to walk between each one. It was nothing particularly fancy, unlike the shimmering open space downstairs, but it was warm, dark, and more comfortable than sleeping on the wooden pews, so Therion was content. They set their belongings under two adjacent beds while the young cleric brought blankets from a nearby closet.

She shifted uncomfortably. "There are enough beds for all of you…"

Therion suppressed a laugh, and Simeon smiled. "My lady is feverish and takes comfort in sleeping beside me. I hope you will be able to provide clerical healing, but I presume you would prefer to worry about that on a full night's rest."

Her eyes opened in understanding. "Of course. All you need do is ask for Sister Lianna. For now, though, I shall leave you to rest, and attempt to do the same."

It was the first time Therion had slept in a church since he met Darius. He hadn't objected to it when he was young and alone, and had easily learned to pretend to be pious to partake in a few easy meals. But Darius had been too prideful, saying he would rather die than be treated as a worthless street rat. Even now, it felt strange to be inside the cathedral.

_Aren't ye ashamed to be asking them for help?_

No, he decided, because he was asking for help on Primrose's behalf. It was necessary for her sake, and only a coincidence that he benefitted as well. Darius had tried to do the same for him in Stillsnow, threatening the barkeep and innkeeper to let him stay the night. They differed only in that Therion was successful.

Satisfied, he shut out the voice and tugged the blanket over himself.

Simeon was the one to wake him. Allegedly the playwright wanted him to know he was departing to find Sister Lianna, and though he was not obliged to, Therion begrudgingly followed along. Torn between distrusting Simeon and knowing he wanted the best for Primrose, he decided to err on the cautious side and keep an eye on him. Primrose, meanwhile, went back to sleep.

It seemed Lianna was either well-liked or kept under a watchful eye. Even the first priest Simeon asked knew her whereabouts: she and her sister were tending to their father, the archbishop, who had fallen severely ill.

"We asked for directions," Therion reminded the priest, and Simeon's lips tightened at his impatient tone.

"Right… This way, then."

True to his word, the archbishop was bedridden. Lianna and another blonde cleric sat on either side of him, clutching his hands. They both had their eyes closed and were speaking softly, much like Simeon or Tressa did when casting their spells. Therion stayed in the doorway, not wanting to interrupt.

"I thank you, my daughters, but I'm afraid this time has worked no better than the previous four," the archbishop rasped. "Worry not about me. This old man will recover on his own if the Gods will it."

"Father," Lianna whispered. Therion could see tired circles under her eyes. She must not have slept as she intended. "How can I not worry? You mean everything to me- even if I do joke about you from time to time."

"The Kindling is more important. Focus on that, and when you return, I shall be well. Remember, your journey begins tomorrow in the Cave of Origin: you cannot very well complete the Kindling without the Sacred Flame, now, can you?" He chuckled and ruffled her hair. "I'd like you to get some rest before you set out."

As they spoke, Therion pulled _Beginner's Tonics_ from his cloak. He hated that he was even thinking about practicing medicine on the archbishop, of all people, but clerical healing was clearly not working and they would need to pay for the inn somehow. Poetry and playwriting were not the most profitable in the short term, and he hated to admit that Alfyn was right- if he actually wanted to be free, thievery was not his best option. The church was wealthy, humble though they pretended to be, and if he was actually able to put together a tonic as he had seen Alfyn do so many times…

Almost immediately after Lianna noticed he and Simeon were standing in the doorway, she noticed the tome he was holding, and stood up. "Is that… Are you an apothecary? I'm sorry. I assumed far worse, given the shackle on your wrist, but did not want to mention it. I am glad I was not too quick to judge you."

Simeon gave him a once-over, his lips pursed and an inquisitive look in his eyes. For a playwright, Therion thought, he was _terrible_ at acting as though he did not consider him a killer.

Hesitantly, Therion dropped his wrists, making both the tome and his bangle visible. "Your first impression was correct," he muttered. "I'm really not an apothecary. But it looks like clerical healing isn't helping, and you don't look like much of an apothecary either. I know someone… far more skilled than I am, and he will be in town in a few days. But if you want me to… I could take a look before he gets here."

"To have a novice apothecary is far better than not to have one at all," Lianna replied, optimistic. "And it is such a relief to hear someone will be here to take care of my father once I am gone for the Kindling. How could I ever repay you?" she sighed.

"With… money," Therion suggested. "I'll need to buy supplies. And by healing Primrose, like you claimed you would last night."

Lianna paid him a small sum in advance for ingredients and glassware, and followed Simeon to the guest room. As he flipped through the pages of his tome, he noticed the other cleric watching him.

"Most apothecaries would ask their patients what symptoms they are experiencing," she offered, timid.

Therion scoffed. "Fatigue, sore throat, probably coughing. Pallid skin. Weak muscles."

"You're not wrong, dear boy," the archbishop laughed roughly. "But fatigue and weakness come to anyone my age."

"Mm," Therion hummed humourlessly. "When did this start?"

"Yesterday in the evening. Before your arrival. Lianna tells me it was four in the morning when you came."

It was several minutes before Therion spoke again. The cleric was beginning to tap her fingernails on the frame of the bed. "Was anyone suspicious in the cathedral yesterday?" He muttered, holding one page open and continuing to turn through the book. "Aside from me."

The archbishop furrowed his eyebrows. "I don't believe so. Why do you ask?"

"Found a certain type of poisoning that matches your symptoms. No one with a grudge against the church or anything? I'll keep looking."

"Just a moment," the archbishop coughed. He attempted to sit up, and the blonde cleric beside him gently pushed him down. "Poisoning… falls under the realm of ailments for which clerical healing is ineffective. Would you show me your tome?"

Indifferent, Therion laid the tome on the archbishop’s lap. The cleric subtly leaned over him to read it as well, and he could see her shoulders tense as she read.

“I’ll be,” the archbishop breathed, lying back. “Someone’s made an attempt on my life.”

Therion hadn’t _wanted_ to be right. Silently, he took the book back and turned the page for instructions to make the cure. He wasn't sure what he expected, but was overwhelmed by how little he actually understood. The techniques he required must have been explained in chapters he had not yet read, and he had heard Alfyn mention the names of only a few of the ingredients. His mind was drawn back to Gaborra evergreen, and Alfyn's explanation that it was harmful only when prepared incorrectly, and he realized he did not even know if any of these ingredients had similar side effects. Eyes wide, he nervously turned back to the explanation of the poison, and exhaled slowly when he read that it took more than a month to kill. There would be time for Alfyn to arrive.

What was he thinking? Medicine was Alfyn's business, not his. But just as Simeon's dark magic had helped Primrose get to Flamesgrace, he suspected his talents might not be useless, either.

"Are you able to help him?" the blonde cleric asked quietly.

"I don't think I am," he admitted. "But I might be able to help Lianna."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief explanation of the chapter title.  
> H7 in chess denotes a tile on the board directly in front of the black rook. The white bishop that begins on a white tile can reach H7 within two moves, and once it is there, is immediately open for capture by the black rook and by no other piece. One of the definitions of "rook", meanwhile, is "a gregarious Eurasian crow with black plumage and a bare face, nesting in colonies in treetops".
> 
> Also guys I'm so excited. Not only did I reach 50 000 words and FINALLY beat the final boss of Octopath, we've also reached 4000 hits. Thank you so much for sticking with me through this story. It means a lot.


	37. Prometheus I

It was necessary to return to the guest room to retrieve his winter clothing, and hence necessary to shut down any and all questions Simeon, Primrose, and Lianna had about where he intended to go. The shackle on his right wrist was enough of a clue, and there was no reason to tell them what, exactly, he planned to steal, until and unless he brought it back safely.

It was at least good to see Primrose a bit healthier. She was weary from another drastic and immediate change in body temperature, but was fully aware of what the others were doing, and shot Therion a knowing smirk before he left, as if she had figured out his plan.

Or perhaps she had noticed him slipping on Simeon's vest under his jacket. Lianna and Simeon were blissfully unaware, but Primrose had a keener eye than most. Still, if she kept her lips sealed, he did not care whether she knew he was doing it. It was not the first time he had borrowed their companions’ clothing, and he doubted it would be the last.

Once he made it outdoors, he began to wish he had also taken Simeon’s boots. The scraps of cloth he tied together were hardly even worthy of being called shoes. Their only benefit was their silence, an advantage whenever he did not want to be found, but one he suspected he was skilled enough to do without. In this weather, at least, it was not worth the potential frostbite. As soon as he left Aelfric’s Lanthorn in the cathedral, he would use the money Lianna gave him to buy a proper pair.

Of course, he would have to actually obtain the Lanthorn first, and already it was shaping up to be more frustrating than he hoped. From a short distance away, he could see a pair of guards in clerical robes standing before the entrance. He doubted he could talk his way through, the entrance was too small to simply sneak past them, and though he’d slain one of the pirates guarding their lair to rescue Primrose not so long ago, he was reluctant to perform the act again. Not only would it require killing two men rather than one, he was not fighting for his friend’s life, and to kill a cleric seemed far worse than killing a fellow criminal. It would be possible, he supposed, merely to sprint past them, but an escape would be far trickier if both guards were after him.

Reluctant, he stayed out of their line of sight and lit a fire. It was possible the smoke would draw their attention and give him the opportunity to slip by, but he knew it was not particularly likely. Worst case scenario, he would wait for one or both of them to depart, as it was not possible for them not to eat or sleep.

He was fortunate, it seemed. Past the crackle of embers, he could hear the crunch of snow beneath boots. He took his cue to duck out of sight, then slowly made his way towards the entrance to the cave, avoiding the more obvious path. He slipped inside without either guard noticing him, and turned the first corner he saw before they returned to the entrance.

The air seemed to stand completely still. Wind was hardly a concern in the cave, but the cold cut like daggers into Therion's core nonetheless. He had to keep moving, much as he was tempted to listen for the guards to return. He doubted he would overhear anything useful, but it would be satisfying to hear their confusion as to who had lit the fire.

He began to wish he could light one in the Cave of Origin as well. It grew darker and seemingly colder the further he descended into the cave. Initially, his gradual pace was intended for silence, but now it served to ensure every step he took was on solid ground.

Only when the Lanthorn was within his sights did his surroundings glow blue once again. This far in, his surroundings began to look less cave-like and more like ancient ruins, with massive, broken pillars outlining a circle, and a pedestal holding the Lanthorn in the centre. A stone figure five or six times Therion's height stood over the Lanthorn as though guarding it from intruders like him.

Somehow, Therion suspected it was not just for decoration.

He had heard such beings mentioned in taverns, primarily by scholars but occasionally by other thieves, and always disregarded the conversations. They had always seemed preposterous. What kind of fool thought he could waltz past a golem the size of a two-story house and live? What kind of ego did it take to think one could best one in combat?

What kind of _cleric_ , no older than he, with none of his speed, thought she could take the Lanthorn from within arm's reach of such a creature?

He felt a rush of pride and adrenaline. All he really needed to be was quicker than the stone guardian, or subtle enough that it did not activate at all. It was, so far, indistinguishable from a statue- really, he didn't have much evidence that it wasn't- and if anyone was qualified to pickpocket the Gods…

It certainly wasn't _Lianna_.

With his back against the stone wall, Therion inched around the circle of pillars to make his way behind the guardian. His breathing was so silent a blind apothecary would presume him dead, and his shoes- if one was inclined to call them such- avoiding scuffing against the rocky ground even without looking at it. This wouldn't even be his most risky mark. What was a stone guardian compared to the entire Hornburg army?

He sprinted forward, hooking the Lanthorn's handle into his palm as he ran. The guardian awoke and immediately took a swing at him, but Therion was quick enough to be out of reach. Instead, the guardian hit one of the pillars, splintering the side. The top collapsed downwards, spraying ceramic shrapnel in all directions. Several pieces struck Therion's cloak, but did not make it through his jacket. He did not slow down or even look back. His focus was entirely on the path out of the cave- a path which was now easier to see, thanks to the glow of the blue flame hanging from his fingertips.

A voice more intense than Therion had heard in his life echoed through the cave, and for a moment he wondered if the guardian was speaking. "Thou art no Flamebearer!" it roared. "Releaſe my Lanthorn at once! Villainy!"

Therion nearly felt his heart stop beating, but he continued to sprint up the path. There was no way. It couldn't be Aelfric himself- it must be an imitation. The Gods did not speak to humans.

"Halt, thief! Wherefore doſt thou defy my forewarning?"

The handle around which he gripped the Lanthorn became hot as liquid metal, and Therion choked on his own breath and dropped the flame. He slid to a halt, tore his scarf off his neck, and hastily folded it. With its protective layers shielding his hand from the heat, he grabbed the Lanthorn once again and tore back towards the exit. The stone guardian was not quite as slow as he had hoped. But he could see the exit. He could make it.

He began to question this idea when droplets of light started raining from the ceiling of the cave. Like one's eyes upon looking too suddenly into a bright light, Therion's body became numb. His muscles tensed all at once, and he only knew he had stopped running when he felt stones and dirt under his forearms.

The stone guardian was approaching. For one so massive, it was light on its feet, even while carrying a sword and shield more massive than Therion could ever have imagined.

It was going to stab straight through him, Therion realized. Or it might crush his tiny frame under the weight of the shield. And this was assuming the Gods had not already stricken him dead with magic. He knew this, but he could hardly move, even to shield himself from the light as he so desperately wished he could.

"Hath Æber set thee to this taſk, o thief? Return the Sacred Flame. I ſhan't kill thee." The voice now came from above, as though the stone guardian was speaking. But it was clear enough now that the guardian was not autonomous, and to whom the voice belonged.

Therion struggled to his knees, then shielded his eyes with one hand. Light still cascaded from above, but just as one would expect upon staring into a light for long enough, his body gradually adjusted. His muscles relaxed, and he could move.

"I work alone," Therion responded, lowering his hand, standing up, and grinning. "Aeber's got nothing on me."

In one swift motion, Therion swept the Lanthorn back into his palm and made one final dash out of the cave. The light became more intense as he neared the exit, but he knew the stone guardian was too large to make it through, and he did not think Aelfric could touch him after he escaped. The guards might have posed a problem, but they did not see him coming and could not keep up. Clearly it was not every day they saw someone steal from the Gods.

As he approached the town once again, he began to realize how exhausted and chilled he was, and slowed his pace. It was still a bit of a walk back to the cathedral, especially if he wanted to take a route less traveled to avoid being seen. Setting the Lanthorn down behind a massive evergreen, he looked back to see no one following him, and wrapped his scorched scarf back around his smug grin.

_Jealous yet, Darius?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was fun. I did some research about Middle English because I wanted to write the Gods and S'warkii's residents more accurately than the game did. I settled for a 17th-century style, learned the rules for when to use ſ instead of s, and tried my hand at iambic pentameter. I'd originally intended to use ƿ and þ as well, but it turns out those fell out of use before Shakespeare's time. Shame.  
> If it's cringy, tell me and I'll rewrite Aelfric's speech. I haven't done this before, so it's possible this is no less disgusting than I find H'aanit's text in-game.


	38. Prometheus II

When Therion returned to the cathedral, Lianna's sister was delivering a sermon in the main hall, lit from behind by a blue flame not unlike the one in his hand. He locked eyes with her, then dropped the Lanthorn at the back of the room. She would recognize it, he figured, and would know far better than him what was supposed to be done with it.

He was about to head up the stairs when he realized that she had stopped preaching, and that the majority of the churchgoers present were staring at him. "Excuse me!" she called, startled. "Wait! Is this the- Is _that_ what you meant when you said you'd help Lianna? I-"

"Yeah," Therion muttered, hating the attention. She had already left the podium and was chasing after him. Her pace was quick, but her steps were tiny, almost dainty, and her posture was straight and dignified. He had already guessed she and Lianna would be completely unfit to make it out of the cave, but this was ridiculous.

"You do know- don't leave. You do realize what you've just done, don't you?" There was an empty horror in her eyes that made Therion almost believe he ought not have done it.

"I saved Lianna a trip to the Cave of Origin…?" he replied dumbly, feeling something sink in his stomach.

The cleric bit her bottom lip and slowly shook her head. "Would you follow me? I believe His Excellency ought to be the one to explain."

Therion didn't know clerics were permitted to stop their sermons halfway, but at least a few of the attendees seemed to understand. Those who did not- children, mostly- leaned in to ask, and Therion did not hear any useful replies. With little choice not to, he turned to watch the cleric, who picked up the Lanthorn with far more grace than he had ever thought to and led him towards her father's chambers.

"What is your name?" she asked, quiet and seemingly holding her breath.

"None of your business. What's yours?" he snapped.

"I am Ophilia. And I'm afraid it is very much my- _our_ \- business."

Lianna, evidently finished healing Primrose, was seated beside the archbishop when they entered. Nervous, Ophilia introduced him formally to the archbishop, holding the Lanthorn behind her back. Therion did not see the point to this- even if he could not see the Lanthorn directly, its blue glow was visible on the door behind them. It was as though she wanted to break the information to them gently.

“Spit it out, Phili,” Lianna encouraged. “We’ve all met Therion already.”

“Yes, of course… my apologies,” she stuttered. “You see… Therion took Aelfric’s Lanthorn from the Cave of Origin.”

Lianna choked on her saliva and coughed a few times. "I- I must have misheard you, Phili…" Shaking nervously, Ophilia shook her head and held the Lanthorn out before them. "I… we've already performed the ceremony to- to introduce me to the Gods as their Flamebearer. The guards wouldn't have permitted him entrance, sure, but failing that, Aelfric himself shouldn't have let him near the Lanthorn!"

"He didn't," Therion replied, monotonous. "He attacked me with a shower of light. Some patron deity you've chosen to worship…"

" _Excuse me_?" Lianna was nearly screaming at this point. Therion took a step back, unsure whether she was appalled that he had witnessed Aelfric's power or that he had insulted him shortly thereafter.

"The magic wore off shortly after I left the cave. Don't worry about it. You've got your Lanthorn now, so…" He waved his hands dismissively. "One less thing to worry about before you go on your Kindling."

He had a feeling this was a stupid thing to say, based on Ophilia's previously horrified expression and hesitance to tell him anything. But a sense of understanding settled into Lianna's eyes before she crossed her arms and looked away.

"Therion," the archbishop finally, grimly, spoke. "Lianna can no longer partake in the Kindling. It is, necessarily and definitively, the Flamebearer who takes the Lanthorn from the Cave of Origin. None can do so on another's behalf."

Therion paused. "You're not saying I have to go back in there and beg Aelfric's mercy for taking it."

"I am indeed not saying that," the archbishop coughed. "Therion… not only have you stolen the Lanthorn, you have stolen the title of Flamebearer from my daughter. I believe it is she to whom you owe an apology."

"Father," Lianna hesitated, "he meant well."

"Lianna!"

"What's done is done," she replied. "Even the Gods cannot change the past. We must consider the future, and how Therion might regain Aelfric's trust and partake in the Kindling in my stead. We must teach him how to perform the ceremony, and we should find a way to remove his Fool's Bangle, else no one will trust he is the Flamebearer in the first place."

He had initially regarded the prospects of religious duties with scorn, but the last bit caught his attention. "You'll get the bangle off me," he repeated.

"Well, yes," Lianna agreed. "I doubt Bishop Bartolo or Bishop Donovan would permit you to perform the Kindling otherwise."

Reigniting the Sacred Flame in two churches did sound like an easier task than tracing and stealing back three dragonstones, Therion considered, and Lianna was essentially promising his shackle would be off before the journey even began. There would be nothing stopping him from abandoning the task as soon as he left the town.

"So you'll be able to return a set of three dragonstones to House Ravus in exchange for the key?" Therion pushed a bit further.

"I will certainly try," Lianna promised. "More accurately, I suppose, I will assist you with your task whenever you deem my presence useful, just as I will train you for and help you with the Kindling."

So it wasn't the ideal scenario he had pictured. She would be following and supervising him, and he doubted a cleric would be of any use if he had to face Darius. He supposed nothing in life could come easy.

"...And I get no say in this?" he finally sighed.

"I'm afraid it is out of even my hands," the archbishop replied.

Therion relented, crossing his arms and closing his eyes. "Look, I'm not taking the damned Lanthorn _anywhere_ just yet. Like I said, I'm waiting for someone, and until I get rid of this bangle, I'm not setting foot in another church."

"Very well," the archbishop consented. "Saintsbridge is not expecting Lianna for another month, and I can send Bishop Bartolo a letter should you require more time than that. While you wait for your companions, my daughters shall introduce you to the Gods and ask for their blessing to send you on the Kindling."

"Great," Therion muttered. "I'm gonna… go, now."

Lianna and her father remained quiet and permitted him to leave, but Ophilia hurriedly tiptoed after him in that same inane manner. He decided not to acknowledge her presence, and walked back to the main hall, unsure whether he would go back to the guest room to check on Primrose or leave the cathedral altogether.

"Therion," she finally addressed. "A word, if I may… You see, His Excellency has been training Lianna for more than a year for this rite."

"You think I won't be able to learn it in time."

"No!" she reeled back. "I think you're capable of whatever you set your mind to. What I meant was… I believe His Excellency deserves a bit more respect than you have yet shown him. It is a crushing blow to learn that one's efforts for the past year have been for naught, and that one's daughter has been denied the position she should, in fairness, have, and yet… you have his reluctant blessing, Therion. Please show him that he is not wrong to trust you." She took a deep breath and looked down. "I'm afraid for him. I understand your friend is an apothecary, and that he will be able and willing to give us a remedy, but I am afraid nonetheless. I do not know who would even think to poison His Excellency, whether they are still in Flamesgrace, or whether they have another plan if he recovers. I just want him to rest easy knowing the Sacred Flame is in good hands." She took a deep breath and glanced up at Therion, hopeful.

"Sister Ophilia?"

Before Therion could even think of a response, a man with messy, snow-covered hair cut in. He wore a coat with fur around the collar and had a gentle, youthful smile. "My apologies if this is a bad time. I wished only to thank you and your family for proving me shelter and food for the past few days. I will departing shortly, so please tell Lianna I wish her the best on the Kindling. Do I remember correctly that her next destination is Saintsbridge? I would like to visit her again."

Ophilia's posture sunk just a touch, unhappy that she was denied a response. Nevertheless, the hope did not fade from her eyes, and it was clear Therion was free to respond whenever he liked. "It was an honour to have you, Mattias," she replied with a kind smile. "Regarding Lianna, though... There has been a slight change of plans. Therion here is taking on Lianna's role as Flamebearer. Therion, this is Mattias from the Leoniel Consortium-"

"A pleasure. You two have fun," Therion muttered, shrinking away from the conversation. "I'm going to… check on Primrose and Simeon, I guess."

"Simeon?" Mattias raised his eyebrows. "You don't mean…" He paused as though rethinking how he wanted to phrase it. "The famed playwright, Simeon Greyquill? I've always wanted to meet him in person."

Therion narrowed his eyes, finding the pause disconcerting. Still, Simeon was more than capable of defending both himself and Primrose if Mattias' intentions were not as they seemed. "He's… upstairs."

"How exciting!" Mattias lit up, the blue flames of the church glowing in his eyes. "Our unexpected Flamebearer, traveling with such an… esteemed writer! Fortune has smiled upon me to allow me to meet you both." He turned his attention to Ophilia. "I suppose I shall stay just a moment longer."

As Mattias ascended to the guest room, Therion sighed and shoved open the massive wooden doors to the cathedral, letting a gust of cold air inside. Primrose and Simeon could wait. He was exhausted, had enough pocket change for an inn room, and didn't think he could tolerate staying in the cathedral another minute. Ophilia clearly noticed he wasn't going where he claimed he would, but there was enough venom in his glance to convince her not to mention it.

The sting of icy wind almost seemed welcome on his cheeks after such humiliation. Had he not learned anything trying to steal the dragonstones from Cordelia? Every time a target proved to be any challenge whatsoever, he was roped into inane, frustrating tasks, consuming months of his life.

Not that he had much of a life to live, but he was better off living it on his own terms.

The idea did not come without a bit of hesitation. Was he? Even now, he found his thoughts constantly drifting to Primrose, wondering if Simeon's presence really was doing her any good, and reassuring himself that if he pulled anything with his dark magic, that numerous clerics walked by the room every hour. Even now, walking alone through the town, he found his footsteps approaching the inn, where his first plan was not to request a room but to ask if Alfyn or Tressa had stopped by. Even now, his mental picture of Orsterra was updating itself with the locations of the major cathedrals, because he, for whatever reason, felt he actually should carry out the Kindling like Lianna and her family insisted.

He was fully capable of buying a pair of proper boots and a lantern without the name of a God slapped on it and leaving town. But some sentimental part of him liked having a purpose and people he could rely on, much as the rest of him loathed the idea.

_You've always been a sentimental sap, haven't ye?_

_Sure_ , Therion indulged the voice, dragging his feet towards the inn. _For as long as you've been a manipulative bastard._

A young woman fitting Tressa's description (short enough for even Therion to rest his chin on her head, carrying a backpack more than half her size, probably writes her diary entries with the feather poking out of her hat) had, in fact, checked into the inn. The innkeeper was kind enough to direct him to the empty room. Tressa must have told him she was expecting someone, and Therion was happy to claim it was him.

It could prove to be an interesting strategy once he was on his own again and needed somewhere to sleep. He could easily pay attention to people who were leaving their rooms, and tell their innkeepers they were expecting him. It might be inconsistent, but it would be worth a try at least once or twice.

He lit the fireplace. It was generally a simple task, but after his exhausting endeavours, his normally nimble fingers broke two matches before managing to light the kindl-

-before managing to light the small branches.

Frustrated, he tore a pillow off each bed, barely registering that there were three beds rather than two, and curled up amongst them by the fire. Primrose could wait. The Kindling could wait. Tressa and Alfyn were human too, became tired just as he did, and would understand. Quite possibly, they would not even wake him until morning.

"Thief!" Tressa cried no more than an hour later, startling him to sit up before he realized she was just addressing him. She threw a pillow at him, which landed squarely in his face and knocked him back into the pillows on which he had been lying.

"Die," Therion replied, throwing the pillow back in her direction. She caught it easily.

"Why is it that whenever I find you, you're asleep in the middle of the day, lying on the floor in front of a fireplace despite being right next to several empty beds? Also! It's good to see you again," she chirped, holding the pillow behind her head and flopping backwards onto the bed closest to the window.

He decided not to answer, instead turning his attention to the door, where Alfyn and another man who Therion recognized as Professor Albright entered. Alfyn waved, similarly eager to sit down, and the professor removed his hat and bowed. "Although I would not describe eight in the evening as the middle of the day, in large part, Tressa has it right. A pleasure."

"You're alive," Therion idly remarked. "Alfyn's cure worked, then. Why are you here?"

"Indeed, it's done me wonders," the professor replied. "I previously did not think it possible for a concoction to take effect so quickly. I recovered within two short days, and thus was able to help Alfyn distribute the last of his medicine to his remaining patients." He shifted uncomfortably. "This, ah… unfortunately included one of my students, for whose condition I was deemed responsible, due to my insistence that I ought to teach her classes while ill… as a result, I am presently on leave until the Academy deems it appropriate for me to return."

Therion narrowed his eyes. "That doesn't make sense."

"Professor Albright teaches Princess Mary," Tressa explained far more succinctly, "and left untreated, the Gaborran whooping cough can be fatal. They would have blamed Vanessa, but they actually couldn't find her. I wonder if she left town." She quickly sat up. "I hope she didn't go to Rippletide. I'm gonna send my parents a letter tonight."

So they hadn't told her. Therion wondered if Alfyn had left the professor in the dark as well.

The reminder of Professor Albright's departure did not sit well with Alfyn. "I don't get why they have to blame someone. It was Vanessa's medicine that turned her otherwise harmless fever into the whooping cough, and it was the Princess herself who sought Vanessa's treatment. You can't blame Cyrus for anything more than the fever- and even then, you can't even prove it was his fault."

"Cyrus?" Therion questioned.

"Yes?" the professor responded. "Ah, you mean- of course. Only my students are required to address me as 'professor'. You are welcome to use my personal name. Then again," he grinned, "I am somewhat lacking in students at the moment, so if you take interest in literature, arcane magic, religious studies, or the history of Orsterra…"

"Professor Albright taught me how to cast fire magic!" Tressa added excitedly. "I melted a bunch of the snow on the way here!"

"I bet other travelers will be _thrilled_ when it freezes into a sheet of ice," Therion shot back, leaving a haunted look in Tressa's eyes. Still, he wondered if the professor's knowledge of religious studies would do him any good. He was, for the most part, delightfully ignorant of the church.

"So how was your trip here?" Alfyn asked, changing the subject. "Did Prim or Simeon do something to piss you off? I notice you're… alone in our inn room, heh."

"No," Therion hesitated, finally standing up. "They're staying at the cathedral. Primrose started getting hypothermia on the way here, so we asked the clerics to treat her. She seemed alright last time I saw her." He could sense the question of why he was not with her returning. "The archbishop was poisoned," he nervously continued. "I already told them you'd help. Come on."

Now that he was forced to confront the question, he realized he did not have a simple answer as to why he did not go to see Primrose again. He had planned to do so, and considering he distrusted Simeon outright, was skeptical that Mattias was merely an avid reader, and did not know with certainty that Primrose was now in good health, something urged him back.

Something told him the archbishop could wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Press + For Travel Banter
> 
> Lianna: Look, father! I've found a baby in the snow!  
> Josef: She must be cold. Come now, bring her inside.  
> Lianna: Look, she can say a few words. Ophilia, say "mother!"  
> Ophilia: Mama!  
> Lianna: Say "Lianna!"  
> Ophilia: Anna!  
> Lianna: Say "father"!  
> Ophilia: Your Excellency!


	39. Chillin' Like A Villain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry this took so long. I promise I'm going to continue writing!

"Permission to enter?"

Mattias stood just outside the guest room, lit from behind by the lanterns hanging from the cathedral walls. His mere presence seemed to draw a smile from Simeon's lips. "Certainly. How long has it been?" The playwright pursed his lips for a moment. "On second thought… suffice it to say it has been far too long, my friend."

Simeon was standing over one of the cots, and only when he came closer did Mattias see the young woman lying therein. She was asleep, and Simeon's long nails were caressing her cheek. "You'll forgive my hesitation. I can't be certain my lady is not listening."

"Quite the beauty," Mattias remarked, taking the opposite side of her bed. "Who is she, may I ask? Or would you prefer she not hear your response?"

"This is Lady Primrose Azelhart." Simeon coyly smiled, brushing his fingertips under her chin. "You’ll recall my dealings with her father, Geoffrey Azelhart, by the letter I sent you shortly thereafter.”

He did not have to think for long to remember the elegant scratches describing Lord Azelhart's murder. Simeon's guilt had never been visible in his handwriting, and was even difficult to detect in his expression, but Mattias could tell the deed was killing him by the language he used in his letter. Now, his smile indicated he was completely over any remorse he had felt at the time. "I take it I'm more well-informed about the event than she is.” Careful not to be too explicit, Mattias raised his eyebrows and received a single affirmative nod. “She doesn’t know who you are.”

"It's best she doesn't." Simeon drew his hand back and slipped it into his pocket. Mattias could see a hint of rare remorse in his gaze. "Come, let's talk in privacy. We may believe we are alone here, but nothing could be further from the truth. Aside from the church staff meandering past every few minutes, anyone who wishes to stay the night is welcome here at any time. The least I can ask is the veil of mundane conversations of strangers, and I would not object to a hot beverage."

"I'm certain you know a more straightforward way of asking me out for coffee," Mattias muttered. "It still amazes me that you've found so many lovers over the years who've been able to tolerate you. But I've plenty to tell you as well, and you're right. I despise cathedrals. Even when men bear us no witness, the Gods are always watching."

"I did not think you cared much for the Gods," Simeon chuckled, tugging his coat on and realizing his vest was not where he had left it. He followed Mattias down the stairs and back into the frosty outdoors, gradually noticing that Mattias held his tongue longer than expected.

Once they were outside, Mattias scanned the area, then spoke softly. "You're familiar with a white-haired wretch with a manacle, aren't you? He told me of your whereabouts. You might want to reconsider whether you care what the Gods think of you."

"Therion? Indeed, he is traveling alongside me," Simeon affirmed. "What of it? I did not think they thought highly of him either."

"Are you aware he's now the Flamebearer?" Mattias hissed.

"No?" Simeon raised one eyebrow. "Are you certain of that? He's hardly more than a thief, we only entered town last night, and his discomfort upon entering the cathedral is only surpassed by your own. I'd be quicker to believe that he follows the Dark God than that he's the Flamebearer."

"Whether you believe me matters not. It's true, and it's making my plans far more difficult than they ought to be." Mattias scanned the area once again, a bit paranoid, and saw only Simeon shivering with his hands tucked in his coat. "One of the archbishop's girls told me, shortly after I overheard her mention there shall shortly be an apothecary in town to heal her father. Apparently the wretch figured out I poisoned him. Well," Mattias scoffed. "Not that _I_ poisoned him. Merely that it was done. Still…"

"He's a threat to your operations," Simeon gracefully finished. "May I ask-"

"Why I've attempted to kill him? For Galdera's sake, and because the Kindling begins in a few days, which _should_ have meant at least one of his girls was out of the way. Now I've not only to find another way to deal with the archbishop without raising suspicion, I've also a Gods-forsaken _time limit_ to obtain and leave town with the Sacred Flame." Bitter, Mattias narrowed his eyes.

Simeon closed his eyes for a moment and nodded. "The Dark God had bestowed upon you a difficult task as this world's Saviour." He glanced over and smirked upon seeing the tension in Mattias' posture dissipate. It was exactly what he wanted to hear, and Simeon knew it. Mattias slowed his pace a touch and allowed Simeon to put his arm around his waist.

"No doubt about it," he sighed. "If only I had a way to deal with the apothecary he intends to summon, the poison could still work. I know not even what he looks like."

A grin crept up Simeon's cheeks. "Fear not, my friend. Precisely how long do you need him out of the picture?"

Mattias raised his eyebrows. "Until he leaves town, presumably alongside that Flamebearer of yours. I recall hearing the Kindling starts in a few days. Are you saying his apothecary is likewise your travel partner?"

Simeon grinned, pulling the heavy tavern door open. "Your deductive reasoning is better than I remembered."

Allowing Simeon to play the role of a gentleman, Mattias entered and immediately surveyed the room. It was late in the afternoon, but less busy than he expected. He had his choice among several empty tables, and selected the one furthest from the crowded fireplace. A few patrons chattered among themselves at the adjacent table, but Mattias' count of the empty glasses before them confirmed that they would not be listening particularly closely.

"I don't imagine it will be easy, mind you," Simeon continued, pulling out a chair and gesturing for Mattias to sit. "Therion will persist until he is satisfied that Alfyn has healed the archbishop to the best of his ability, and we've another travel companion you've not accounted for- a young merchant named Tressa. Even to get Alfyn alone will be a challenge."

"Are you asking me for recompense?" Mattias asked.

"You're not entirely wrong," Simeon said. "I shall require a favour of you in return for my services." He paused a moment to see Mattias' narrowed eyes. "Such a pleasure to see your infallible enthusiasm."

Mattias scowled. "Speak, or I'll have nothing to immediately decline."

"Mattias," the playwright cooed, brushing thin fingers under his friend's chin. "You have known me for many years. You know better than any still living of my numerous romantic endeavours. Humour me, for I can trust no one else with this request."

Mattias pulled back. "I've told you before- I'm not interested in men."

"Allow me to finish. I've told you before that my standards are far higher than _you_ could hope to satisfy." Smug, Simeon leaned back and crossed his hands behind his neck. "In regards to Lady Azelhart, however…"

"She is _decades_ younger than you."

"Don't be ridiculous. I've merely been twenty-six for a very long time."

Mattias stood up, glowering down at an altogether too comfortable Simeon. He broke his gaze and stepped past him, narrowly fitting past a chair at the adjacent table.

"Where are you off to?"

"Until I have a cup of strong coffee, I can't tolerate listening to you for another second." He tilted his head towards the nearby table, then leaned close to Simeon and hissed "So keep your damn mouth shut."

Mattias stayed at the bar as they brewed his drink, not so much as glancing back at Simeon. With tense shoulders visible even through his coat and his eyes darting to the door whenever it opened, Simeon suspected parts of his friend's fear were deliberately exaggerated. When Mattias dropped a large mug before Simeon before sitting down, he began to think the same of Mattias' external exasperation.

"How kind of you."

"Yes. I've told the bartender you'll be paying for both of us. Now continue." Mattias shot Simeon a sideways glance. "I take it Esmeralda tired of you since we last met in person."

Simeon took a long sip of his coffee before answering. "It's unseemly to be too intimate with one's subordinates."

"And far more proper to pursue the young woman you once babysat, years after ending the life of her father."

"Far more dangerous as well. But it was never my intention. I believe she thought the poetry I read to her when she was young was meant for her ears only. I expected she'd think little of it; as a noble daughter, she was constantly showered in praise, but she took special notice of my serenades for Esmeralda. She must have fallen for me all those years ago, as the moment she saw me again, her very world seemed to stop spinning. And Mattias- she is _stunning_. Were I truly the young man whose form I now inhabit, I would have easily felt the same. But I could only see the young girl who visited me as I tended her gardens. Much as I longed to see her happy, I had no desire to see her undressed."

Mattias chuckled, finding it quite easy to see Simeon as a lovestruck young man with none of the power he presently wielded. "You said she was dangerous?"

"I did. That very evening, as we walked through the town, she told me why she had returned to Noblecourt. She intends to kill Albus, Rufus, and myself- all who were present when Geoffrey was murdered. And, with the deepest love in her eyes, she asked me to join her on her quest." Simeon rested his elbows on the table, and let his forehead fall into his hands. "I agreed. She knew already where Rufus was residing, and I decided it would be advantageous if I was able to warn him ahead of time, or plan an attack before she met him. And to win her utmost trust and affections, I treated her to dinner and slept with her. Mattias- if she had caught a glimpse of the back of my neck, she would have choked me in that very bed. I fixed my hair to cover it as well as I could, tied her wrists behind her back, and tried to keep her kneeling before me when possible. Not only was she incredibly accommodating to my requests, she was-" Simeon swallowed thickly- " _terribly_ good at it. Unbelievably good. But if you asked me if I thought she was having a good time… well. You know I can recognize an actor when I see one."

"So many years of practice," Mattias laughed, "and still you can't satisfy?"

Simeon shook his head. "I admit it was untoward to ask, yet I did, and she admitted she had spent the years since I last saw her working as a dancer in Sunshade. It was how she learned of Rufus' whereabouts, but in that time, she was constantly abused. There was nothing I could have done to make her enjoy the experience. It broke my heart to learn she did not think hers could heal."

"How tragic. Write a poem about it."

Rolling his eyes, Simeon took another long sip of coffee. "In any case, I am now traveling alongside her, and by extension, alongside Therion, Alfyn, and Tressa. She trusts me wholeheartedly- she refused even to disclose to her friends that she had witnessed me torture a woman with dark magic- but our relationship is nevertheless incredibly fragile. If she begins to suspect I am associated with the Obsidians, or sees the crow on my neck…" Simeon shook his head. "She loves me, but her will to avenge her father is stronger. Every moment I spend with her brings me closer to death, but Mattias, I don't think I'm acting anymore."

Waiting to see if Simeon had anything else to say, Mattias stared into his coffee and wrapped his cold hands around the mug. Half a minute passed before he spoke.

"So you want me to kill her."

Simeon, likewise, was not quick to reply. "Someone has to," he laughed weakly. "And I am not up to the task."


	40. Pride and Consequence

By the colour of the sky, Mattias knew he had spent far longer in Simeon's company than either of them had intended. Nevertheless, hearing Simeon's stories from the past three decades and sharing his own was well worth the time. The food and drink, likewise, satisfied him more than he expected, given that he was capable of surviving for extended periods without either. That he persuaded Simeon to pay for it all may have slightly contributed to his enjoyment.

But as he was Galdera’s chosen Saviour, his long list of tasks began to weigh on him, and he bid a temporary farewell to Simeon. Even though he claimed to know the Flamebearer’s company well, Mattias hesitated to believe that having Simeon facilitate the Archbishop's death would be enough. It would be necessary to obtain Aelfric's Lanthorn before leaving town, lest the much more difficult task of locating it during the Kindling arise. And he had- foolishly- agreed to assist Simeon in Lady Azelhart's murder, during which time he could not draw suspicion to himself, else it would be infinitely more difficult to access the Lanthorn. He would have to locate it first, keep Primrose silent as he killed her, and steal it as he left the cathedral.

It wasn’t a particularly simple or easy plan, but the Dark God would have slain him by now if he did not trust Mattias was capable enough to do it.

He suspected the dark magic Galdera had bestowed upon him would be of use. To bring a weapon into the cathedral was suspect enough even if he did not plan on leaving with a bloody one. Even so, the murder itself would be far easier if he could simply stab a blade through her slumbering body. To kill with magic was far slower and required far more concentration. He would need to conjure very specific ailments upon Lady Azelhart, risking brief moments before which he could cast additional curses, during which she could scream for help. As such, it would make sense to begin by cutting off her breathing- but this was not as simple as it sounded. Unless he lodged something in her throat beforehand, he would have to collapse her trachea or cut off her tongue- the latter of which, of course, required a knife.

Odd as it felt to admit it to himself, however, Mattias was not entirely sure he could manage the former. While he knew he was technically capable of doing any kind of harm to the human body, it was not every day he had a reason to do so. It would be difficult to do such immense damage immediately. There had to be a simpler solution.

Her vocal chords, Mattias soon realized, might be an easier target. It was within the realm of possibility that he might paralyze them. He suspected it might not even hurt her enough to wake her up. He would then have as much time as he liked to finish the job.

He opened the door to the cathedral only enough so that he fit through, and guided it to shut gently behind him. But he had no reason to be stealthy, he quickly realized, though his silence did no harm. One of the archbishop's girls- Ophilia, he recalled- had returned to the hall to preach, and while the room was not crowded, nor was it empty. The white-haired Flamebearer stood- sulked- alongside her, looking none too happy about the veritable curtain she'd draped over his shoulders or the Lanthorn he passed between each hand as though he was nervous or the handle was hot.

So step one was already complete.

There was no use in hoping to take the Lanthorn from the Flamebearer's very hands, though, so rather than immediately going upstairs to the guest room, he lingered near the cathedral's entrance for a long moment, then found a place to sit near the back. Fortunately, no one paid him any mind.

As he listened to the cleric girl's words, he gradually realized she was not preaching to those present at all. Rather, she seemed to be speaking directly to the Gods, with her mortal onlookers doing no more than watching her pray. It was an odd scene, and the Flamebearer appeared appropriately uncomfortable, looking away from the small crowd whenever she spoke his name. He tolerated her treatment of him, but barely, a flush rising in his cheeks by the moment and a chained hand rising to cover his face.

Ophilia did not seem ignorant to his humiliation. "Are you alright to continue?" Mattias heard her whisper. The Flamebearer nodded as though speaking was too much, still not meeting her gaze.

"Very well," she continued, a touch hesitant. "Then I shall continue by asking each of the twelve Gods for their consent to send you on the Kindling. Eight of the twelve must agree to have you represent them on Earth for the next few months, until you have finished reigniting the flames in each of the major churches of Orsterra."

"Wait," Therion mumbled, no louder than the crackle of the Sacred Flame. "What if…"

"Don't worry," Ophilia said. "There has not been a Flamebearer in the history of the land who has received the approval of fewer than ten of the Gods. Lianna and His Excellency were both lauded by all twelve."

"And I'm sure all former Flamebearers were also clerics, priests, or bishops who were intended to take the Sacred Flame."

"Yes," Ophilia smiled. "You are the first thief in Orsterran history be honoured with the duty- and as such, I am certain you shall have Aeber's support."

He looked guilty, and closed his eyes as though estimating how many of the Gods would shun him for his life's sins. It certainly appeared to be more than four- not that Mattias was one to judge.

"As each of the Gods approve of your role in the Kindling, these circles in the base of the Lanthorn shall open and the Flame shall shine through them. I can faintly hear their voices, but for your own reference, the names of the Gods are engraved below the openings." Ophilia placed a gentle hand on Therion's shoulder, and he flinched away from the touch. "Please, Therion- take a deep breath. I shall ask Aeber first."

She closed her eyes and clasped her hands together, and within half a minute, the metal above Aeber's name shifted, revealing the blue glow within. Therion stared at the base of the Lanthorn, and Mattias could see a touch of tension release from his posture. At least he had not disappointed Aeber too badly.

"Will it help you to choose the order in which I request the Gods' approval?"

Entranced, Therion took a minute to respond.

"Alright," he stuttered.

To Mattias' surprise, he wished to hear from Bifelgan second. It was three minutes before Ophilia lowered her hands and sadly shook her head, but it was concentration and not disappointment that manifested in Therion's gaze. Mattias understood. Therion knew he would not please the God of Trade, but wanted to know with certainty rather than have to pray he was wrong later on.

He won Draefendi's support, however hesitant she seemed to be to give it, and Winnehild's shortly after. Brand was next. His disapproval seemed to shrivel Therion's soul more than anything so far. Mattias wondered why he focused so heavily on the Gods of combat. Perhaps the sin that haunted him so was murder. But it would be odd, he considered, as Draefendi was particular about when it was fair to take a life. Mattias doubted Therion had killed for sustenance, or was guilty of putting a dying creature out of its misery.

Dohter and Alephan each gave Therion their blessing, and a young man in the front row cheered for a moment before someone beside him grabbed his arm to shut him up. Mattias swore he saw a satchel strap over the man's shoulder, and by his support of Dohter, wondered if he was the Flamebearer's apothecary. Doubtful, he decided- Simeon had told him the apothecary was not yet in town.

At this point, the Flamebearer’s expression went blank, then he slowly raised the Lanthorn and squinted at its base. He was silent, and while everyone present patiently allowed him to read, a couple nervous glances were exchanged among the small crowd. It took the Flamebearer a moment to speak the next God’s name.

“Dreisang?”

Ophilia gave him a sympathetic, concerned, unwanted glance before the Archmagus granted his consent, and Therion appeared ready to storm out of the cathedral. But clearly he did not remember the names of the remaining Gods, and could not read quickly enough to be unnoticed, so he stood, frozen and helpless, unsure what to do. Eventually he redirected a desperate gaze to a man in the front row, who stood up.

“Neglecting the Thirteenth God, the Gods who you have not yet called upon include Sealticge, the Lady of Grace, Balogar, the Runeblade, Steorra, the Starseer, and Aelfric… for whom you are performing the Kindling.” The man bowed his head, tucked a tome under his arm, and sat down.

It was so very like the church to _omit_ the Thirteenth God.

“Alright…” Therion swallowed, trying to ignore the eyes on him. “In that order, then.”

Ophilia hesitantly asked each God in turn, and received Sealticge’s and Balogar’s blessings, then Steorra’s disapproval. Unlike his reaction to Brand’s vote of unconfidence, Steorra’s did not seem to faze him. It made sense, Mattias supposed: as she was selected eleventh, after two negative votes, the Flamebearer knew she could not sway the outcome. Still, it visibly startled Ophilia- perhaps because she knew none before had ever disappointed three or more of the Gods?

“Therion,” she stuttered, “are you familiar with Steorra’s powers?”

The Flamebearer ever so slightly shook his head, but Mattias understood. The Starseer was capable of seeing a person’s future, while the other Gods could only judge Therion by his past. Her lack of support was no small thing, and it was fortunate Therion had not selected her earlier, else she might have swayed a few positive votes.

Mattias wondered what grave sins would arise in Therion’s future, that Steorra would not consider him worthy to carry the Flame. Perhaps he might convince the Flamebearer to join him in following Galdera- what a glorious day that might be!

"I shall speak with you after the ceremony, then." Ophilia forced an even tone. "Very well. To conclude, I shall ask Aeber for his support in carrying his Lanthorn." A bit of contentment sparkled in her eyes. "You planned to ask him last, did you not?"

"No," Therion said. "I didn't plan to ask him at all. You needed a majority of eight- you have it. It doesn't matter what Aelfric says."

He placed the Lanthorn gracelessly upon its pedestal in front of Ophilia's podium.

"Therion-"

" _Ophilia_ ," he interrupted. "I stole the Lanthorn from him. He attacked me. He would have killed me if he was the type. He's never done anything for me, and I never asked to represent him. If you want me to light a couple fires, that's one thing, but I don't want to hear a word from _him_ about it."

"Will you listen to me?" Ophilia cried, a bit louder than she evidently expected, as she lowered her voice immediately. "Please- I am willing to negotiate with you at a later time, but I must finish the ceremony. The Kindling takes place only once every twenty years, and is crucial in rekindling not just the Sacred Flame in each church, but far more importantly, the hope of all people in Aelfric's power to protect and serve them. It is for people like you who have lost hope in the Gods for whom we are traveling Orsterra- not for the Flame." Therion opened his mouth for a rebuttal, but Ophilia spoke first. "No. Listen. You aren't here to represent Aelfric- I understand. You're free to think as you like about him. But as Flamebearer, you _are_ going to represent the church, you _are_ obliged to inspire hope in the Gods, and I will not permit you to shun his name in public!"

Silence ensued. Ophilia's face drained of colour, mortified by her own outburst.

"Then ask him," Therion finally muttered. "Be my guest. I just don't want to be here to see it."

With a single nonchalant gesture, Therion lifted his shackled hand and the thick, white cloth draped over his shoulders sunk to the floor. He kicked it away, put his hands in his pockets, and walked down the three steps atop which the podium and Lanthorn laid. Trembling, Ophilia quickly scooped up the fabric and hastily tiptoed after him.

"Therion, please. The ceremony shall only last a few minutes longer. I deeply apologize for screaming at you- it was not my place-"

Near the edge of his periphery, Mattias could see Ophilia follow Therion out of the room, in the general direction of the Archbishop's chambers. This was terribly convenient, he considered, as the guest room was in the opposite direction entirely, and the Lanthorn was placed- or carelessly tossed- right in the centre of the hall, barely twenty paces from the entrance.

The murder of Lady Azelhart was going to be easier than he could have possibly hoped.


	41. Motive and Repentance

"I cannot finish the ceremony to introduce you to the Gods without you present," Ophilia weakly protested, losing hope that Therion cared in the slightest. Therion remained about ten paces in front of her, making long, brisk strides, but not running. Ophilia still had difficulty keeping up.

She could also hear Therion's company following behind her. Alfyn, Cyrus, and Tressa had all briefly introduced themselves upon entering the cathedral, and had seemed oddly surprised that she required Therion to participate in a rite. They had been a respectful- if somewhat excitable- audience, but she began to suspect early on that Therion would have preferred to partake alone. Often it was only the Flamebearer's family permitted to watch the ceremony, but as she was not sure Therion had any still living, she did not touch the subject. It was too late to ask if he wished to do it privately, however, so she saw no point in lingering on the thought.

Therion faltered, then stopped just outside the intricately carved doors to the Archbishop's chambers. He either thought it would be improper to barge in unannounced or doubted it would help in his escape. But he would have made for the doors from the main hall if he had wanted to leave, Ophilia considered. Why would he instead weave through the corridors to come here?

"I'm not a good choice," he finally said, not bothering to turn to look at her. "I don't know why eight of your Gods thought I was a valid Flamebearer. I never wanted to carry your Lanthorn- I've only been able to see it as punishment for stealing. The only reason I've done anything you've asked is because Lianna said she'd get this damned bangle off my wrist, and now I don't think it's worth it."

He raised his shackled wrist, and glanced back at her. "You don't know anything about me. You don't know why I have a Fool's Bangle, or why I drew a knife when I first heard your sister approach. But you want me to represent you. Why?"

Ophilia hesitated, took a deep breath, and considered the question. Therion slowly lowered his arm. "I may not know very much about you, Therion, but I have witnessed Aeber, Draefendi, Winnehild, Dohter, Alephan, Dreisang, Sealticge, and Balogar sing your praises. They have watched over you throughout your life, and I trust they would not approve of a soul who does not yearn to do good."

"And do you think Bifelgan, Brand, and Steorra are lying through their teeth?"

"No," Ophilia said, "but no man lives his life without sin. You have led a difficult life, where you have needed to choose between theft and starving. Some may disagree with your decisions, but they do not make you evil."

Therion looked past Ophilia to see his companions, and fear swallowed him. He did not speak for a long moment.

"I… didn't just steal for survival," he quietly admitted. "Maybe it started out like that. I can't remember. I don't remember much of my childhood. But often I just wanted to make myself rich. Or to impress-" He didn't finish the sentence. He glanced up, seeing four pairs of eyes, and seemed to shrink back even more, despite the door blocking his path. "I broke into houses while people were sleeping. I once set a woman's house on fire to make it easier to steal her jewelry. I stabbed a pirate in the back just to get past him more easily- I let someone torture an apothecary, then drove a sword into her heart to kill her. Your Gods," he stuttered, "chose a murderer. What I can't figure out is why."

"Then we are on the same page," Ophilia said. "I also cannot fathom why you would commit such acts. But I know it cannot be without reason." Therion clenched his jaw. "Why don't you tell me? Why did you need that woman's jewelry?"

He narrowed his eyes. "Why are you pressing me about this? I told you. Greed. Money. Champagne, mead, wine, ale, a new dagger, nicer clothes, a night at the Grandport Grande, saving for a house to call my own."

"Because you were homeless."

"Stealing her jewelry didn't change that, and I destroyed _her_ home in the process."

Ophilia closed her eyes for a moment. "Why did you injure the pirate?"

"Just because he was in the way," Therion muttered. "I killed him. I murdered him, just because he wouldn't let us pass."

"That's not true!"

One of Therion's friends, a short merchant with a cream-coloured dress and equally short pigtails, interrupted. Ophilia turned around, surprised, to see her defiant scowl. She stepped forward and pointed a confident finger into Therion's chest. "You stabbed him because his crew kidnapped Primrose! He was threatening to harm me as well, and even though you needed to protect us, you swore not to hurt any other pirate inside that cave! I don't believe you now. There must have been something really important you needed money for if you burned down someone's house to get it. What was it, Therion?"

The blond apothecary crossed his hands behind his neck, and the black-robed scholar pressed a thumb to his lip. Ophilia stepped back, slightly nervous, but Therion's fear seemed far greater. He shoved Tressa away, but she stood firm and crossed her arms.

A strangled sob finally escaped Therion's throat, and he turned his back to the others.

"My… ankle was broken," he admitted. "I couldn't get the traveling apothecary in town to help me. I thought it was because I couldn't pay him enough. I was broke- just scraping together enough for bread and water, and no logical apothecary would treat people without payment. But I could hardly walk- I drew too much attention to just steal a few coins here and there- and I knew if there was a fire, she would run from her house, and I had a chance to- to take a couple necklaces, earrings-"

Alfyn reached a hand forward, and Therion flinched. He stepped away, as far as he could go without opening the door, into the shadowed corner of the hall.

"Do you remember, Alfyn? I asked you if you had ever met Ogen. Back in Clearbrook."

Alfyn nodded.

"He never ended up helping me. It didn't matter how much I offered to pay. He knew I had no money just the day before, and I didn't tell him how I managed to get it. He figured out I was a thief, and he left me to rot in the streets." Therion's voice broke. "That's why I need to get this damned bangle off. Why I'm so desperate I'd do some church-girl's bidding."

Silence ensued, and Therion put his forearms on the wall and rested his head on them. It was clear he was trying desperately to stop crying before he had to look anyone in the eye again. No one was rude enough to point it out.

"There's just one thing I wanna know," Alfyn said softly. "If this was after your fall, wouldn't your shoulder and wrist be broken as well? You only mentioned your ankle."

"I- I didn't bring it up to Ogen, either," Therion sniveled. "A thief can survive with one hand. It's harder if he can't walk. I didn't want to ask too much of him. He didn't want to help me to begin with. And I don't blame him. I was offering money that wasn't mine, that I lit a house on fire to obtain."

It was hard to watch the anger and regret radiating from Therion's broken soul, but Ophilia could not pry her eyes away. After all he had suffered, even as he described the injustice he received from others, he blamed only himself. But there were no kind words she could say that he would take to heart, and he clearly did not want to be touched. She was silent, unmoving, and felt sick with sympathy.

"I didn't-" Therion choked on his words. "I didn't come here to ask for the Gods' forgiveness, or judgement, or to be pulled into some ceremony to find out how many of them think I'd be better off dead. I told you I knew someone who could heal your father better than I could pretend I knew how."

"I appreciate it," Ophilia stuttered. "But I cannot just leave you to despair over your past. There must be something I can do to help you…"

Shaking his head, Therion turned the brass handle and shoved the door open. "There's nothing any of us can do to change what I've done. Just go. Alfyn- you too."

Swallowing thickly, Ophilia nodded, accepting but reluctant, and entered the Archbishop's room. She had expected to see Lianna keeping him company, but the stress of seeing her father waste away- or the Archbishop himself- must have urged her to take some time to herself. Therion, too, she suspected, would benefit from a walk in the cold, fresh air, and an irrelevant but friendly conversation to take his mind off the world's woes. But she looked back, and still he leaned against the wall, distant.

Alfyn slowly closed the door behind him, finally making his concern evident in his expression. Knowing Therion would not permit anything of the sort, Ophilia felt an urge to hug Alfyn in his place. But she expressed no such desire, and Alfyn silently set his satchel down on one of the wooden chairs beside the Archbishop's bed, and they locked eyes in unison when they heard a woman's blood-curdling scream from the upper floor.

Ophilia had scarcely heard Lianna shriek during her time at the cathedral, but knew her voice well enough to recognize it immediately. Her spine froze, and she ran to the door.

"What's going on?"

"My sister-!"

Alfyn was at her side in a fraction of a second, not even bothering to pick up his satchel. "I'm with you. Let's go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Press + For Travel Banter  
> Ophilia: Go stand in the corner and think about what you've done!


	42. Broken-Hearted

"Wake up."

There was fortunately no one but Primrose present in the large guest room, which satisfied Mattias, as it was one less stressor to worry about. No one had followed him, either. The small crowd which had viewed the Flamebearer's introduction to the Gods had been too distracted by its outcome to notice him slip away from the scene, and he had not passed any church staff on his way to Lady Azelhart's bed.

She rose, startled by his presence, when he jostled her shoulder, and swung her legs off the side to stand up.

"I would recommend you stay put. I have only woken you so that you might hear my explanation of why, exactly, I intend to kill you."

Predictably, she stood up, startled by his nonchalant admission of intent to kill, but when she attempted to say anything on the topic, she could not speak a word. A hand rose to her neck like a magnet, and much as she tried to cough to clear her throat, her efforts were to no avail.

"You'll have no luck with that. I paralyzed your vocal cords. You see, I'm blessed with the very same skill in dark magic as your beloved Simeon. I trust you're familiar with the concept- but if I am wrong, do feel free to shake your head." A hint of a smile tugged at his cheeks.

Lady Azelhart did not, in fact, shake her head, but rather stumbled back to the adjacent bed, slightly further from Mattias, eyes wide with fear.

"Good. Now, as you agree you are aware, I am fully capable of snapping your neck as easily as I can snap my own fingers. For this reason, I trust you shall keep calm, quiet, and still. Else I fear I won't honour you with a reason for killing you. Understood?"

She nodded hesitantly, and Mattias casually sat down on the bed closest to the hallway, leaving Lady Azelhart's bed between them. Following his example, she slowly sat down two beds away, straightened her posture, rested her hands on her lap, and expectantly met his gaze.

"I can see that despite running away from your noble house, you have not forgotten your manners. Very good," he condescended. She did not humour him, showing no insult in her expression. "To the matter at hand, then. I expect you have certain suspicions regarding my motives, which I shall address outright. I was completely uninvolved in your father's death. I was, in fact, nowhere near Noblecourt at the time, but in Saintsbridge. I did, however, receive a letter about it from one of the men present- the very same man, mind you, who asked me to assassinate you. He alleges it would be too difficult a task for him, yet knows it is necessary, given that you would kill him if you knew what he had done. Do you know of whom I speak, Lady Azelhart?"

For a moment, her only response was a blank stare. But it took only seconds for her eyes to widen, her nails to dig into the bedsheets, and her lips to soundlessly whisper "No!" Denial shifted to anger and betrayal just as quickly, and she wrapped her arms around her torso and brought her knees to her chest. Then there was a moment of doubt, in a mere flicker of her eyes.

"Ah. You have never seen the mark of the crow upon his body, have you?" Mattias smiled, examining his nails for a moment. "And yet, you have examined even his most… condemnable parts. A fair argument, fair lady. But he has taken to concealing the mark beneath long hair- and I hear you were not particularly focused on the back of his neck during the encounter. Yes, he told me everything. If anything," he scoffed, "he would not shut up about it."

Shamed and humiliated, she hugged herself tighter and dug her fingernails into her shoulders. The colour was long gone from her face, and Mattias knew she would have screamed, if she could, not from fear or pain but the agony of knowing her love had betrayed her so openly.

Then, slowly, she stood up, stumbled to the wall, and pressed her back against it. Her hands shifted from her shoulders to her neck, then she raised an eyebrow.

_What are you waiting for?_

_I don't want to hear another word._

_Kill me._

Mattias chuckled, but did not move to stand up. "I admire your eagerness- or pity your suicidal impulse. But tell me, Lady Azelhart, was it truly love? I am dying to know. Is it love, if one party is desirous to assassinate the other? If Simeon stood in my place, would you be willing to kill him? Would you permit him to murder you, as you are so kind as to allow me to do?"

The very thought wrenched a disgusted expression from her face, but she considered the question and offered an answer in the only way she could think to do so.

She drew her House Azelhart dagger from the sheath on her thigh and pointed it at Mattias.

"Oh, very good. A satisfying scenario- I am sure Simeon shall write it into one of his tragedies. And I am certain he will be glad to know he was correct. But we can't have you changing your mind on desiring your own death, so I shall take a preventative measure to ensure you don't attempt to take mine."

He whispered the incantation, enunciating near silently, and despite the silence of their surroundings, Primrose could hear only a few words. The moment he finished, an electric pain shot through her wrists, and she dropped the dagger. It clattered pathetically to the wooden floor below, and she weakly clutched one hand with the other, alternating between them as though it would do her any good.

"They're only dislocated," Mattias scowled. "It won't kill you. So dramatic already, and I have not even begun to really hurt you."

Primrose averted her gaze, and shifted her weight nervously from side to side.

"You _could_ lie down- I estimate it would make your death more comfortable, and leave you in a nobler, more respectable state- but the choice is yours, my lady." He raised an eyebrow, and she shrugged. "As you like it. By my estimation, severing your vital arteries in rapid succession shall be the easiest and fastest way to kill you. By your silence," he chuckled, "I take it you have no better ideas."

He began to murmur the incantation, and closed his eyes for a brief moment. In a single rapid movement, Primrose unhooked the lantern from the wall directly beside her and swung it diagonally downwards with as much force as her wrists could muster. Unlike the weak clinking of her dagger, the initial crash was shattering, and the sound of the lantern's metal edges ringing against the metal frame of the bed resounded throughout the room.

Mattias' eye twitched, but his voice faltered only for a second.

He could not delay any longer- he had taken too long already. She could not have interfered if he had already killed her.

The moment the final word slipped from his lips, she stumbled forward and collapsed to the ground alongside her precious dagger and lantern. While he did not think she was dead yet, he knew she imminently would be. He had severed her coronary artery, inducing a heart attack, and she would die of internal bleeding very quickly even if nothing else ailed her. He had intended to continue, to put her out of her misery more quickly, but he could almost hear a countdown ticking down to the point when the church staff found him.

He would run for the Lanthorn and leave as soon as he could. There was no other choice.

But the moment he spun around, he saw one of the Archbishop's daughters not a few feet behind him. A hand rose to his mouth, and for a second he could not speak.

"I just came to collect my belongings, and I found her. I think she's dying," he sputtered. "I am no healer- I can't do anything."

In his panic, he thought only to show his own innocence, and forgot what Lianna was capable of. If Primrose was still the slightest bit alive, Lianna might save her.

Lianna gasped and sprinted to Primrose's side. As Mattias belatedly predicted, she quickly called upon Aelfric's power, and-

"Wait!" Mattias shrieked.

Still frozen, he realized he had not thought of a reason to stop her. But Lianna hesitated for a fraction of a second. He had to say something. Anything to give Primrose the few seconds necessary to die completely.

What could he say?

_What could he say?_

What could he do to Lianna to stop her?

He shifted his focus entirely to her, and began chanting a curse, as quickly as he was able, to paralyze her vocal cords before she could finish the spell. It was the shortest spell he could think of in the split second he had, so he began reciting every word from just a few minutes prior. He doubted he had spoken so quickly in his life. If only he could finish before she spoke the last syllable, he would be victorious.

Horror in her expression, Lianna locked eyes with him, and accelerated her tongue as well. She knew what he was doing, but it didn't matter, so long as he pulled it off.

As though his hands were magnetically attracted to her neck, in a final effort to stop her, he grabbed her and shoved his thumbs into her throat. Nearly screaming, and her eyes now streaming, Lianna desperately continued, trying to pry his hands away.

Mattias finished, tongue numb, unsure if he had enunciated clearly enough for the spell to take effect, and released her.

But it didn't matter either way. Lianna had finished first.

Hearing the scrape of metal on the floorboards, Mattias redirected his focus to Primrose, and quickly began another deathly spell that Lianna could not now interrupt. He would succeed. He had to succeed.

In his periphery, he could see Lianna approaching him. He held his hands out to keep her away, but she tackled him to the ground, trying to cover his mouth with her hands. His back hit the floor roughly, but he continued to hiss the spell through the pain. He could not let her seal his mouth shut- though, even if she did, he might still have a chance to try again. What could she do about that? She was a healer, a theist, and nothing more.

Then above him, past black, gloved fingers, he saw a flash of crimson leap down from the bed. Primrose's feet landed on either side of him, and with the momentum of her fall, she drove her house dagger into his chest.

He coughed, interrupting the spell. Recognizing this, Lianna pulled her hands away, terrified now of the woman she had saved. Before she could pull away, Mattias grabbed Lianna by the collar of her dress, pulling her face down to his.

He ripped the dagger out from his abdomen and shoved it into hers. Adrenaline had masked the pain initially, but now he could feel blood spilling down his stomach, and felt himself choking on his own breath.

A cry resounded. Evidently his attempt to rush out a curse to still her tongue had been in vain. Primrose gasped. Unconscious, Lianna collapsed on top of him.

His vision was starting to fade. Primrose grabbed his head between her hands, and snapped it backwards into the metal bedframe.

The world faded to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the most intense rap battle


	43. Triage

When Alfyn and Ophilia first entered the guest room, all they could see was Primrose, kneeling between two beds, choking on her own tears. Her face was pale, but for the hot red in her cheeks, and she was shaking. She did not appear to see them at first.

Alfyn slowed his pace in shock, but was at her side within moments.

The next thing he saw was two bloody bodies.

He covered his mouth with one hand, and knelt down beside her. First he had to find out if either of them was still alive. Questions, though there were many he was dying to ask, had to come second. He pressed his ear to Lianna's chest, as she lay closer to him, and hovered his hand over her lips to feel for breath.

"She's alive," he finally said, "but dang, it's good you didn't take that knife out."

He leaned over to check the very same thing for Mattias.

"If he is as well," Primrose sobbed, "then I did not slam his head against the bedframe hard enough."

"Prim-" Alfyn hesitated. Sure enough, though he hadn't noticed it at first, blood stained the floor just under Mattias' head. He could feel a heartbeat, incredibly faint though it was, but he did not mention it just yet. It would be better to understand the situation first, rather than provoking Primrose to knock the last bit of life out of him. "What happened?"

He rifled through his pockets for an antiseptic to clean Lianna's wound as she choked out the events of the past few minutes. Mattias had paralyzed her vocal cords and told her Simeon had sent him to assassinate her. He had dislocated her wrists when she drew her knife, and severed an artery to kill her- she did not know which one, but her chest still hurt. Lianna had saved her at the last second. She did not know exactly what he had tried to do to Lianna to provoke her into tackling him to the ground, but it gave her a very brief opportunity, which, in the heat of the moment, she seized.

She stabbed him. He stabbed Lianna. She smashed his head in.

She had not stopped crying at any point, but Alfyn could swear she was sobbing harder than ever before by the time she finished her brief explanation. He rose from his knees and took her into his arms, and she pressed her face into his shoulder to smother her tears.

He wanted, so badly, to tell her she had done the right thing. But the words wouldn't come. He couldn't say it was morally correct to stab him, even though he had tried to kill her first.

"It's so awful he would do this to you," he whispered.

"Who?" she whimpered. "Mattias? Or Simeon?"

"Can't say either of them is innocent," Alfyn sighed. "Gosh, Prim, I wish there was more I coulda done. I'd have stopped 'em both if I'd known."

Alfyn felt the grasp on his tunic tighten slightly. "Can you save Lianna?"

Alfyn gave her unconscious form a once-over. Ophilia was kneeling beside her, her hands clasped in prayer. "I can try. Maybe you can even help, if you want to. Sister Ophilia- do you know any healing magic?"

She did not respond immediately, and Alfyn quickly realized why. Before he even asked the question, she had already begun casting a healing spell. Eventually she opened her eyes and looked up at them.

"Yes. But I cannot do any more until we remove the knife. I recommend we combine our efforts: you can disinfect the wound more effectively than I, while I can mend the torn tissues. I shall focus on the internal damage, as I cannot heal everything, and rely on you to apply sutures."

"That- that's a great plan, Sister," Alfyn stuttered, not expecting her to have such a precise plan of attack so soon upon seeing Lianna nearly dead.

"I am grateful for your help. It would be a much slower recovery if only one of us was to heal her." Ophilia took her sister's hand. "I thank the Gods we still have this opportunity, brief though I suspect it could be. But, Alfyn? You shall require your satchel."

"Right, yeah. Don't think I have anything appropriate in my pockets. Shoulda brought it with me, but I was in such a rush once I heard the screaming that I didn't even think about it." He ruffled a hand through his hair. "I'll go grab it from your father's room- be back in a jif-"

"Alfyn," Primrose interrupted. "Allow me. Lianna needs you now. I feel so useless, especially knowing that she would not have been stabbed at all if not for me."

He nodded. "Alright. You know where the Archbishop's room is? Therion, Tressa, and Cyrus were all there when we left. Honestly- kind of thought they'd come too."

Primrose nodded. "I shall return shortly."

She rolled across the bed closest to her so she would not have to step over the bleeding bodies before her. She left the room, and only once Alfyn could no longer hear her light footsteps could he relax. A deep exhale he didn't realize he had been holding escaped his lips, and he slumped to sit on one of the beds.

"I don't know what we're gonna do," he said softly. Ophilia looked up with confusion. "No, I mean… of course we're gonna take care of your sister. Just like you said. She's gonna be fine. But with Mattias. There's a heartbeat there, that's a living man on the floor in front of me, and much as I wish I didn't, I've half a mind to leave him like that. Gods, that feels disgusting to say out loud. But I trust Prim, and if he tried to murder her, and darned nearly killed your sister, I… I can't say if it's right to save his life or not. I know, it ain't our job to act as Gods and decide who lives and dies. One of the first things I remember is Zeph's dad teaching us to do no harm, and I've done all I can so far to do just that. But if we did save him, and he killed someone later on, wouldn't the blood be on our hands for making that decision?"

Ophilia was silent for several seconds. "You didn't want Primrose to know he was alive."

"No," Alfyn chuckled humorlessly. "I didn't."

She inched closer to Alfyn and took his hand. It was warm, and he gently squeezed hers in response. "I understand completely. I cannot forgive anyone who tries to harm Lianna. She means the world to me. But I don't think I'd be able to leave him dying, no matter who he is or what he has done." Her eyes darted down to Mattias. He hadn't moved a muscle since they arrived. Ophilia did not even think she had seen his chest rise and fall with breath. "I think we should assess his injuries. Then we shall know if it is even possible to save him."

Alfyn inhaled deeply. "Alright. Help me get his clothes off and I'll get him onto one of these cots. I'd say the same for Lianna, but I don't want to shift that knife around."

He held Mattias' head up, careful about touching the bloody back of his skull, and Ophilia pulled his coat off his shoulders and began unbuttoning his vest and shirt. The knife had torn through all of them, and the wound in the middle of his stomach had left a bloody outline around each tear. Her touch was delicate, always tugging the material away from the wound before working through the buttons.

Then she stopped.

"There's something hard in his shirt pocket… Do you think I should…"

"I don't know," Alfyn breathed. "Feels wrong to look through all his stuff, I think… But if he just tried to kill Prim, it could be important."

Ophilia lingered on the thought for a few moments, then quickly tugged a small glass bottle from the pocket. It was tightly capped, no larger than her thumb, and filled with a clear liquid.

"It looks like… water?"

"Ha! If that's how he drinks it, imagine how dehydrated he'd be. Here." Alfyn held his hand out, and Ophilia placed the bottle in his palm. He unscrewed the top, then waved his hand over the top so he could smell the fumes.

"...Well, it ain't water, that's for dang sure." He closed his eyes for a moment to think, continuing to smell the liquid inside the bottle. "Extract of noxweed? The roots are good for healing certain poisons, but brewing the leaves and stems gets you a pretty awful poison too. Hardly notice it at first- here, smell it, it's just subtly spicy- you mix it in some food, you don't even notice it's there- but in a day or two you'd feel pretty fatigued and sick, and it'd only get worse. It can kill, but it takes about a month."

Ophilia listened curiously, but soon gasped and covered her mouth. "Alfyn… might it cause weakness and coughing, by any chance?"

Furrowing his eyebrows, he screwed the cap back on. "Yeah… reckon it would. What's on your mind, Sister?"

"That man poisoned His Excellency!" she cried. "My f-father… And now he's stabbed Lianna too!" Before she could even finish the sentence, she was sobbing. "I didn't believe him… Therion- he told us His Excellency was poisoned, and I- I didn't believe him… I thought… I trusted Mattias! I thought he was just- just providing Lianna with supplies for the Kindling, and now… now Lianna's dying by his hand! I thought I could do something, but- oh, Gods, I'm so useless! I can't heal either of them properly! And if he lives, he'll come after me, I just know it!"

Alfyn put his hands on her shoulders. "Sister, look at me. They're both alive. And maybe just one of us would have a hard time healing 'em, but like you said, together we can do it."

She sniveled and covered her eyes with her hands, but nodded.

"Look, I think you're right. With all the lives he's endangered here, I can't say it'd be safe to heal him. But at the same time… it doesn't sit right to wait and have him suffer 'til he dies." He crossed his arms. "I had a… patient, guess you could say, not so long ago now, who overdosed so bad I couldn't heal her. Prim asked me to make an injection that'd kill her quicker, to put her out of her pain, but I never ended up using it. Like I said, I don't have any antiseptic on me, but… I did keep that vial in my pocket." He took a shaky breath. "Guess I look just as guilty as him, walking around with a vial of poison on me. But… Do you think I should…"

"It- it goes against everything I believe," Ophilia choked. "But… he tried to kill my- my family…"

Alfyn drew the poison from his vest. "With that hole in his stomach, don't think I'll even need a syringe." He popped the cork out. "Look away, Sister. We… couldn't have healed him, and you couldn't have stopped me."

Ophilia nodded and closed her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mattias brings around travel-sized bottles of poison so that he's still allowed on airplanes.
> 
> Thank you guys so much for 5000 hits! I love you all!


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